To Live or Die
by Sadie Elfgirl
Summary: Twenty three years have passed since Aragorn left Imladris. All he wishes to do is return home. Unfortunately, an old enemy blocks his path...
1. Old foe

**Disclaimer-don't own,(makes me sad) get no money, HAD no money to begin with, so please don't sue.:)**

**Hello again! Hey, I'm back and I'm on time. I know, it's a miracle.:) Anyhoo, here is the completion of my To series. I hope that you all enjoy the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it!** **For anyone who happens to be just starting in, while it is possible to read both To Be a Man and To Kill a Captain on their own, this story will make absolutely NO sense unless you have read at least one of those. Sorry! This is the only time I've ever had my story be a continuing one, and probably the only time I ever will write one like this. I hope everyone enjoys! On with the fic!!**

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An old man strode through the dense mist that swirled near the banks of the Anduin. He was a curious figure, being hale and hearty though he seemed past three-score years. His clothing was torn and carried with it the look that suggested he had been soaked, then allowed his garments to dry on his body. Mangled though it was, it was obviously the costume of a corsair. A mane of thick white hair was wildly disarrayed, framing a fearsome face. Neither fearsome for the lines and wrinkles that nature left through the passage of time, nor even in whole because of the single dark eye with a cruel look to its sharp glance. Rather, the frightening aspect of his countenance stemmed from the condition of his other eye. Or, lack thereof. A scar traveled from the man's forehead down through the place where his right eye had been and across his cheek.

One gnarled hand clutched his left shoulder tightly. Every now and then he would stumble, unable to see his footing in the thick fog and a look of pain would crease his weathered face. Obviously, the old hand covered a wound, for there was blood on the thick fingers. However, the blood had dried, and it would seem that the hurt was not serious enough to be life threatening.

Unfortunately.

The ghostly forms of thatched huts started to appear through the Anduin's fog. The old man brightened briefly upon seeing them, the dark eyebrow above his one eye uncreasing slightly. However, within a few moments, he had drawn near enough to see the truth and the eyebrow returned to its scowl.

Anduin's mist was very kind to the corsair village. From a long distance the white cloud covered all and left nothing to be seen. Nearer, the huts appeared whole and nothing amiss. Quite near, however, and the old man could see that the few huts that remained standing were fire-gutted and there were not many even of those, for most of the dwellings had disintegrated into ash and blown away on the wind.

A vile curse rolled from his lips. It seemed very lonely by itself, so many more joined it in short order. For a moment, the white mist was very likely to turn blue with the oaths that poured forth from the old pirate. It was quite awhile before he had finished.

Running out of invective, he kicked one of the huts viciously. The frail structure collapsed, sending up a cloud of ash. Choking and hacking he quickly retreated.

A crunching sound suddenly broke through the silence of the fog. The old man started, he head jerking round to stare in the direction from which it had come.

Something moved.

The single eye narrowed as the pirate straightened his shoulders, as though determined to meet whatever came through the mist with a bold front.

They came slowly into his sight. Squat, ugly creatures. Brutish faces and long arms. Orcs. Jeering unpleasantly they surrounded the pirate, but did not touch him. Far from setting the old man at ease, this seemed to increase his tension. He did not let anything show to the orcs, but if they had cared to look into his single eye, they would have seen there a deep fear for what he knew must be coming next…

"Thou fool."

The voice that flowed through the dense fog was evil and insidious, tainting all it touched. Even the orcs, accustomed to evil, cringe and fell silent. By comparison, the pirate seemed to stand taller, his mouth grim and face set.

He appeared suddenly out of the mist. A tall figure wearing a black cloak that trailed along the ground. His face was one out of a nightmare. Bloodstained lips parted in a ghastly smile over rotten, yellowing teeth. The Mouth of Sauron stopped in front of the elderly pirate and in the depths of his cold glare, the corsair saw his death written.

"Thou failed," the gravelly voice rolled into the fog, accompanied by evil breath. "I warned thee, corsair. Riches would be thine if thou were able to locate the heir, and no sooner had I delivered my master's message, then thy ships were lost and thy home destroyed. Obviously, I made a mistake. Thou cannot be an asset if this is how easily a Gondorian can take victory from thy hands. Therefore, the Eye has no need for thee."

However much fear he might have felt, the pirate allowed none to show on his face. "I need orcs and men." The request was blunt, and almost a command.

A full minute's worth of terrible silence followed this bold statement. Then the Mouth threw back his head and laughed. It was terrible laughter, like the shrieking of a crow, devoid of any real mirth. The orcs gabbled in fear and cringed, their brutish faces showing dismay and terror.

The pirate, however, stood firm. His weathered face grew paler as the evil laughter filled the air, but he did not back down or avert his gaze.

The Mouth calmed himself gradually. The cruel eyes narrowed as they surveyed the old man's impassive face. "Thou art as bold as ever. Tell my why I should grant thee what thou asks…instead of slitting thy throat."

The pirate's single eye fixed upon the face of the Mouth. He allowed his mouth to curl into a grim smile. "I believe I have found the heir."

Silence again, but not laughter followed this quiet.

"Who?" The gravelly voice was quiet, not carrying to the surrounding orcs.

The pirate could not contain a snort of derision, despite his extremely precarious position. "Oh yes. I tell you what I know, and then you allow me to leave…correct?" His mouth twisted from a grim smile to a sneer. "I think not. Give me what I ask."

The Mouth's lips formed a ferocious snarl. Sauron's lieutenant was not happy to be refused. For a moment, it seemed his anger was so great that he would forget himself and strike down the man before him. Indeed, his armored fist was clenched and already rising…with an effort, he controlled himself. "Are you sure?" he hissed evilly. "Are you so sure that he is the man the Eye desires?"

"He fits the description you provided me," the corsair ground between clenched teeth. "A leader. Dark-haired and speaking the grey tongue. He is a ranger, or at least he traveled with them at one time."

The Mouth seemed to consider the words carefully. "Had he a ring?"

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Halith looked upon the Mouth with confusion. He had no idea what the creature was speaking of. A ring? Of what consequence could that be?

The Mouth saw the momentary confusion that crossed Halith's weathered face and interpreted it correctly. "A ring. It is called the ring of Barahir. Silver, with two serpents…"

The Mouth's voice continued, but Halith was not listening anymore. His single eye closed and he was calling to mind images of his encounters with Strider. Halith had a remarkable ability. Whatever he saw, whatever he heard, he would always remember with absolute clarity. His mind did not forget details as others did. No matter how long ago something had occurred, he would always be able to remember exactly what transpired, and all the surrounding details.

He remembered the last time he had come face to face with Strider. The flames of his burning ship rose in the background. He could see the man's face, close to his own, the expression in the silver eyes as he whispered a command in elvish…and there, on the finger of his left hand, the glitter of flames caught in a green gem and dancing on a ring of silver, fashioned in the likeness of two serpents.

Halith opened his eye to see the Mouth regarding him suspiciously. The old corsair felt his mouth twist into a grin of triumph. "He had the ring you have described." Cunning glittered in the single, dark eye. "Give me what I ask, and I will kill him."

The Mouth considered briefly. "If thou kills him," he finally said. "I must see the ring. If not the ring, then I must see him, _alive_. Without the ring, I cannot know his identity without…questioning…him. However, if thou find him, and bring me the ring, he _must_ die."

Halith nodded. He understood. Either the ring or the man must be brought before the Mouth and there was no question in _his_ mind as to his preference for delivery. Strider was too dangerous to be allowed to live. Once he was caught, Halith would simply take the ring and kill the man. The corsair's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. Every time this man was kept alive, disaster ensued. Well did Halith remember the fiasco of Rivendell. He, Halith, was the only man to escape from that campaign, and he had not come away without injury. Then of course, there was the most recent interaction. Again, he was the only one left to walk away, but this time his continued life and health were owed more to blind luck than any skill on his part. Had the mast not come down at exactly that moment…

"Thou will take these." The Mouth's voice cut through Halith's musings and brought him swiftly back to the present. Sauron's lieutenant waved a gloved hand, indicating the orcs that surrounded them. "And thou will remain here until I can send thee men."

The corsair captain opened his mouth to protest. If he wished to capture Strider quickly he had to move. Intelligence and self-preservation intervened before any words could issue from his lips. His jaw closed tightly. After his dismal failure, it was best not to push his luck. He would follow orders for now. Waiting was irksome, but his resources would be improved with the wait. The old man nodded in understanding.

The Mouth took a step closer, allowing Halith a very close look at rotting teeth and the blood that stained black lips. Foul breath flowed between those lips as the Mouth whispered for Halith's ears only. "Be warned. This is thy last chance. And do not try to hide thyself if thou should fail yet again. The men I send thee will have their orders."

Halith nodded again, trying not to breath in, or take a step back. Abruptly, the Mouth turned and gestured sharply with one hand. An orc swiftly darted away, only to return with a black steed. Halith could only hope that his enormous relief was not completely evident as the Mouth stepped away from him and mounted the horse, his black cloak fluttering like a raven's wings. Mist swirled around the horse's slender legs as it stamped and pranced, eager to be off. The Mouth stayed it, plying the reigns skillfully. His cruel eyes sought Halith's gaze one final time. "Remember," he hissed. "The man, or the body and the ring."

The horse reared, then galloped away, quickly swallowed by the fog.

Halith allowed himself a deep breath. It would take a few days at the very least to march a group of men from the black land to here. He would have time to rest, to recuperate, and to plan the demise of the man called 'Strider'.

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_Two years later_

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Every bone in his body cried out for rest. Harsh breathing rasped in his ears as he struggled to place one foot in front of the other. It had taken him a long while to recognize that breathing as his own. He did not know how long he had been walking. At this point it did not seem to matter. All he could think of was how much he wanted to lie down and just slip into sleep…but he couldn't. He knew that if he lay down, he might not get up again.

Help. He needed…needed help. His mind screamed the words that his cracked, bleeding lips could not form. Slowly, painfully, he forced his hurting body onward. The cool shadow of golden trees finally fell on his head and the man gasped in relief. He had made it…soon help would…

"_Daro_."

As if from thin air, a dozen elves materialized around him. The injured man's gaze tried to focus beyond the arrows aimed at his heart; tried to see the fair features but he couldn't. Too much effort. Too much pain. It was overwhelming him now.

"You have crossed into the woods of Lothlorien" the leader spoke, his voice strong and his accent thick. "We do not invite humans into our home. You must turn back."

The man shook his head. He couldn't go back. He was injured. He would die before he reached home. "_Saes…_" he whispered.

The elves started, their arrows dropping in surprise. "_Man_?" The leaders stepped forward, slipping into the grey tongue. "_Man pennich le?_"

"_Saes,_" The man repeated. "_U-kel hae…" _He was already slipping away, darkness gathering at the edges of his sight.

The elf caught him as he slumped forward. As Aragorn succumbed to unconsciousness he heard, as though from a very far distance the elf's voice. "_Man enneth le, Adan_?"

"_Estel,_" he sighed softly. "_Estel Elrondion._"

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_Daro—Stop_

_Saes---Please_

_U-kel hae…--- I cannot go…_

_Man pennich le?---What did you say?_

_Man enneth le, Adan?---Who are you, human?_

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**Well, there you are! I hope that you all enjoy the story, and remember…I looooooooove reviews.:) The next chapter should be up by next week barring any unforeseen complications.**


	2. Memory of Evil

**Hello, I am here as promised! Just as a warning, the next chapter may take a little bit more time than usual. I will try to get it out on time, but my wonderful sister beta is kind of expecting her first child, so she may not be able to go over the chapter as soon as I have it ready. The kid is already a week overdue, so the long awaited event could happen at any moment. We'll see. Anyway, Halith doesn't show in this chapter but we get to learn a little bit more of why Aragorn is in not very good condition at the moment.**

The elves of Lorien stared at the human as he collapsed into Haldir's arms. Their leader caught the human, his fair features twisted into an unreadable expression. Though they had no love for any that did not abide under their trees, the elves of Lothlorien were not heartless. The human was injured, and he had obviously traveled far. Road dust coated him from head to foot, mingling with the fresh blood that seeped through a crude bandage on his arm, and another that bound a pad of cloth to a wound across the chest. Halith murmured the question to himself, assuming that the man was past hearing. To the elf's surprise, the silver eyes flickered and focused on him briefly. "_Estel,_" was the breath that squeezed past the bleeding lips. "_Estel Elrondion._"

Haldir swore softly to himself. He had known, as had most of Lorien, of the human that Elrond had taken under his wing. The elf-lord's foster son, and heir to the throne of Gondor. For a few moments, Haldir could not move as he realized exactly who it was that he held in his arms. This was the hope of men. This was the heir of Isildur.

The blond elf swiftly scooped the human up and jerked his head, motioning to his men to follow him. Haldir shook his head as he strode into the shadows of the Golden Wood.

The man looked like he was going to die.

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A soft rain fell with the evening shade. Purple clouds rolled in the dusky sky. Every few moments a flash of lightening lit the darkness, followed by the soft rolling of distant thunder.

Within the branches of the _mallorn_ trees, the fair folk of Lorien enjoyed the rare beauty of the night. Only within one dwelling were the occupants completely unaware of nature's display.

Haldir sighed softly and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. The softest of sounds at the door made him sit up straight, immediately alert.

"Peace, Haldir." The low, musical voice of the lady of the wood filled the room. She stood in the doorway, golden hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back. The room was dark, save for the flashes of lightning. They had found that light only seemed to upset the other occupant of the room.

"He will not wake, _hiril nin,_" Haldir said softly. The tall elf was seated beside a low bed, and on the bed there was a man. A human. Lady Galadriel approached the bedside, her small feet making no sound. Her blue gaze looked upon the human and turned grave.

"His wounds?"

"They have been treated." Haldir pulled the covers back, revealing the bandages the wrapped around the human's chest and arm.

Galadriel nodded, silently assessing the bearded features of the human.

Great drops of sweat stood out on his brow. His skin was browned, and told of a life spent mostly in the outdoors, however there was a very unhealthy gray undertone at the moment. He stirred restlessly, whimpering in his sleep. Dark hair spread across the pillow like the silken tendrils of an undersea plant. The lady's brow furrowed still more as she gazed at the young man. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed for an instant as if the dark strands of hair were alive, a palpable reminder of the darkness within him that would slowly spread…

"_Ada_," he whispered, his voice harsh even at so low a decibel. Not the harshness of a cruel voice, but of one that had suffered much, and was rusty from lack of use.

Galadriel stretched out her long fingers and laid them on his forehead. With a deep breath she closed her eyes…

…only to open them in a world of nightmares. The sky was black and yet an evil red light lit the desolate landscape. Pits bubbled and oozed noxious slime. There were living beings here, but they were orc, or creatures even more foul. Through the black haze she could feel a deep and disturbing emotion. Fear. Somewhere in that scarred land was someone who did not belong there, and he was deeply afraid. The elf woman's jaw tightened as she gazed around her. She knew that this was not reality. This was the young man's memory of the savage land he had escaped from. The fear was his.

Movement caught her eye. Turning, she saw an outcrop of rock. It offered shelter, and more importantly, it offered a hiding place. She could see the young man, his back pressed tightly to the rough surface. He was resting, hoping the rock would hide his presence for a few minutes.

The elf woman stepped forward and touched his arm lightly. "Estel."

His silver eyes were wary as he gazed at her. "Who are you? How do you know that name?"

"This is past you," she said firmly, ignoring his questions. "You are not in Mordor anymore. What hunts you even in your mind?"

The silver eyes were wide and frightened. "Everything," he whispered. "I have seen the dark tower, and the minions that serve the Eye. I escaped detection, but hid near the city of the Nazgul for many days. I have seen things…" His voice broke and he almost seemed to choke with the horror of what he had witnessed. "Slaves brought into the Black Land, men and women and children. I…I could not save them…and the orcs… The orcs played with them." Tears stood brightly in his silver eyes. "I have seen slaves hacked to pieces because they were too slow in carrying out a command. I have seen women dragged away to be savaged and the children! Eru!" A sob shook his shoulders as he covered his face with his hands. "Do not make me remember what happened to the children!"

Galadriel looked at him in wonder. She understood more clearly now. The fear was his, yes. But this was not the fear of someone who was afraid for his own life. Elrond had told her before that his son was not eager to accept the responsibility of being Isildur's heir. He was afraid that he would be weak, as Isildur had been weak. He was afraid that he would not be able to help his people.

Now, the elf lady looked down on the ranger and compassion softened her blue eyes. Estel had seen suffering and death, and he had not been able to help. Galadriel crouched beside him, laying a comforting hand on his arm. The strong shoulders trembled with weeping. She could feel his despair and helplessness.

And something else. Beneath his sorrow, and the fear that beset him, he was angry. Smoldering behind the tear-dewed eyes was a righteous rage waiting to be unleashed on the twisted evil that dared to harm _his_ people…

Galadriel could not contain a small smile of triumph. She had been so afraid that the evils he had seen had broken his spirit. There was steel in this ranger. He grieved for the innocent and was overcome with guilt for not being able to act, but Mordor had not crushed him.

"Aragorn," she whispered. "This is past you." She reached out and took hold of his bearded chin, turning his face towards hers. The human faced her with dignity, unashamed of the tear tracks on his still-young face.

"I can not forget what I have seen," he said quietly. A depth of anguish lay in those simple words.

"I would not ask you to forget, nor remove your memories if I could," the elf lady replied. "For if you were to forget that which caused you pain, how would you learn? If you did not remember those who suffered in this horrible land, would you feel the need to challenge the evil that promotes their pain?"

Aragorn stared at her for a moment, transfixed by her words. His brown hand closed tightly over hers as though it were a lifeline, and he, a drowning man. Seconds seemed to crawl by as his gaze moved back and forth, taking in the nightmarish landscape. Galadriel tightened her grip, bringing his attention back to her. Her blue eyes were calm and reassuring.

Estel heaved a deep sigh. Slowly, the human pushed himself to his feet, keeping hold of the elf woman's delicate hand. As he stood, the black land melted away. Trees replaced the rocks; new grass the pits of slime. The landscape was changed into one as pleasant as the last had been barren.

"Home," Estel said quietly. "It has been so long since I've been here…" a spark of humor lit his silver eyes as he glanced at the Lady Galadriel. "Though to an elf I don't think it would seem so lengthy a time."

"_Adan_ see things differently than the _Eldar_," Galadriel agreed, a smile curling her lips.

Estel turned his gaze to the trees. "I want to return home," his voice was plaintive, but not whining. He was simply stating a fact.

"You will." The elf woman slowly drew her hand from his. "But for now, rest. Be at peace, _Estel Elrondion_."

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Galadriel opened her eyes and focused on Haldir. The elf was gazing at her intently, his brow furrowed with concern. The elf woman smiled softly, allaying any concerns he might have had. "He will be well," her deep voice answered the unspoken question. "Not easily is the spirit of Elendil's line crushed."

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_hiril nin---my lady_

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**okay, I know that this was not a very long chapter, but the next one should be much longer. Sorry! I try not to have chapters this short, but every once in a while they sneak in there. Mostly when my muse is lobbying for better working conditions and higher pay… Oh well. I loooooooooooove reviews! I really really really do! **


	3. Rested and Restless

**Okay, I would like to take this moment to blame any number of things for interfering with my posting schedule….but I can't. Well, technically I can, but it sounds so wussy and half-hearted. Let's see, first of all, my wonderful beta sister had her first child, (completely healthy, thank you all who asked after her) I am now the aunt of a beautiful little girl who's name means 'from the fairy kingdom'. Anyway, after this monumental event, I underwent oral surgery (don't do it if you can avoid it, it sucks) and then for a time the internet connection in our house was only working VERY spasmodically. Once all this settled down, I discovered that my muse had grown disgusted over my lack of interest in her job, packed up and gone to Florida for an early winter vacation. I'm not going to go into what I had to promise to get her back up here, but suffice to say, after this longish chapter, things are going to get quite a bit more interesting.**

**I am EXTREMELY EXTREMELY sorry for my failure to post, but now that everything has settled somewhat, I hope to resume a normal posting schedule once again. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FORGIVE MEEEEEEEE!!!!!! **

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Light. Light was touching his face, caressing it. His eyes were closed, but he could feel the warmth of sunlight. How long had it been since he had felt that warmth? Not that the lands he had traveled in had been cold. On the contrary, they had been exceedingly warm. Yes, they had been swelteringly hot, but he had never seen the sun.

Silver eyes cracked open slowly. Odd. Usually he hated to have sunlight shining in his eyes, waking him from sound sleep. Now…

A tear slowly ran down his bearded cheek. It was so beautiful. Was he awake? Or was he still dreaming? He wasn't sure. Or course, it had been a long time since he had dreamed of anything this lovely. After the first few days in Mordor, his dreams had turned black.

Aragorn sighed softly. He couldn't remember the last time he had awoken without the stench of Mordor in his nostrils.

How could he explain that odor?

Despair. Dead things. Evil. The smell weighed him down until he thought he would scream if he were not able to draw a breath, just _one_ breath, of clean air. Even when he left the borders of the Black Land it seemed to cling to him. The dark-haired man shuddered as he remembered how hard he had tried to be rid of it. Every stream, every pond, river, creek or puddle that crossed his path had witnessed his attempts to scour himself clean.

Nothing helped.

And yet…he was free of it. Aragorn blinked owlishly. He had to be dreaming. Slowly, he drew in a deep breath. The air was sweet, and fresh.

"Am I awake?" His voice was a harsh, rasping growl; more from disuse than the lack of water that had plagued him throughout his journey into the Black Land.

"Yes," a low voice answered calmly. Feminine, but deeper than most female voice.

Aragorn was not startled. He had known she was there the instant he had awoken. One did not wander through Mordor without becoming very conscious of one's surroundings.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at her.

The golden sunlight that flowed through an open window played over her long, shining hair. Slender hands rested on her knees. Somehow, he knew that she had been there for a very long time, keeping watch over him. She smiled softly, as though she knew his thoughts.

"Lady Galadriel," he whispered. A smile touched his own lips, and he was surprised how easily it occurred.

Aragorn had thought he had forgotten how to smile.

The slender elf woman bent towards him, her blue eyes grave though she still smiled. "Your mind was greatly troubled when you arrived, _Elrondion_."

Troubled? That was one word for it. Aragorn knew that the lady spoke lightly. He had been very close to madness when he fell into Haldir's arms. The ranger would have liked to say that he had spoken elvish to the patrol at Lothlorien's border because he knew that they would take him to Galadriel. The truth was, he could not remember another way to speak. As a child, he had spoken elvish. Gradually, he had learned the tongues of men, but the grey tongue was his first.

The evil that had brought him such trouble rose up in his mind with horrible swiftness, threatening to drag him back into darkness.

Lady Galadriel rose abruptly and placed her hand on his arm. The blackness faded back into memory at her touch and Aragorn sighed in relief. "I traveled in a terrible land, _Caladhiril_," he said softly. "It was filled with evil, and a presence that never sleeps."

Galadriel slowly sank back into her chair, no longer smiling. "I know where you have been, Estel."

The human continued on, almost as if he had not heard her. "Rumors reached my ears that power was growing in the East, and so I went to discover the truth."

"And did you?" The elf woman queried.

Aragorn shuddered. Even in the Golden Wood, in the presence of Galadriel, the grim memories of Mordor shook him. "I did," he answered. "It was not quite so bad as I had feared, but it was bad. He has gained in strength, and continues to grow. Slowly…but surely."

Slender fingers touched the clean linen strips that bound the dark-haired man's wounds. "Your injuries…"

"Not orc blades," the ranger answered quickly, figuring she meant to ask if there was a chance he had been poisoned. "No. I…I followed an orc patrol out of Mordor. They used a pass…_Cirith Ungol_. A creature attacked the patrol, and she wounded me. I suppose I was traveling too close to them, but who knows. If I had been further behind, she might have decided that I was a better meal than the orcs and pursued me more insistently! As it was, she already had her catch. Striking at me was more out of habit. I just happened to be in her way as she left with her food." The silver eyes twinkled with something approaching amusement. "In fact, if she hadn't attacked the patrol I might not have been able to sneak past them while they were in disarray. I suppose a couple of scars are a small price to pay for exiting Mordor."

Galadriel was able to smile very slightly in return. "Few who travel there find the fee so light," she agreed. "What do you plan to do now, Estel?"

"Go home." The reply was simple, direct, and succinct. In those two words, the human managed to express the longing of years.

The lady opened her mouth to say something, but Aragorn had not finished.

"I know, however, that I can not go now."

This seemed to take the elf by surprise. Her eyebrows rose on her smooth brow and the mouth closed.

A rueful grin touched the bearded cheeks. "I am not well enough, _hiril nin_. I would like to ask permission…that is…I…" the ranger floundered, unsure of how to phrase his request.

A warm smile curled Galadriel's lips. "You may stay as long as you have need, _Elrondion_." Her blue eyes twinkled playfully. "I must say you have surprised me. Your father has often complained of the…headstrong….nature of his youngest son."

Aragorn turned his face towards the wall to mask the rolling of his eyes. "Headstrong. You mean pig-headed." Though he spoke lightly, the man felt a warmth curling around his heart. _His youngest son…_

"Elrond would never use such a term." The lady's voice was exceedingly dry.

"He would not have too." The man turned his head back towards Galadriel. "I know myself. But I have changed. Though a score of years may not be much to an elf, to a human it is a long time." Aragorn sighed softly. "I am not able to travel physically…and…I …I need time to recover from Mordor. I need to rest before I can return home."

Compassion replaced the playful twinkle in Galadriel's blue eyes. "Here you will find rest." Her hand stroked the dark hair back from Aragorn's forehead.

Aragorn yawned, already feeling drowsy once more. "I have one more request to make of you, _hiril nin_," his voice was fading even as he fell towards slumber.

"Make it."

"_Aniron…_that is, I wish to write to _Ada_, and tell him that I am safe."

"Certainly. But for now, sleep, _Elrondion._"

Aragorn was quick to obey, certain that he was dropping into a peaceful slumber where no evil things waited for him. A sleep that he had not known for nearly two years…

0-0-0-0-0

A light tapping at the door of his study brought Elrond's dark head up in surprise. He had been expecting Glorfindel to join him shortly, but the blonde seneschal had made it very clear that he was not to be looked for before the noon hour. Granted, Elrond had been known to lose track of the time while he was in his study, but a quick glance at the sunlight pouring through his East window left him in no doubt that the elf was very early.

The half-elf's robes whispered about him as he rose and crossed swiftly towards the door. Now that he thought on it, this was most likely not Glorfindel. Not only was the time wrong, the manner was wrong. If it was Glorfindel at the door of his study, the light tap would have been replaced with a harsh bang, and the noise would not have stopped until Elrond arrived to admit his friend.

Curious, the elf lord twisted the brass knob and pulled his door open, revealing his visitor.

The elf was young; a page that served in Elrond's household. Snapping to attention as his lord appeared, the youth held his hand out stiffly, a letter clasped within the slender fingers. "A message for you, _hir nin._"

Elrond bit back a smile with difficulty. Fenre idolized his lord's twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir. It was his fondest dream to be allowed to patrol around the edges of Imladris with them. Obviously, the slender youth was trying to show he was ready for military life. "_Hannon le_, _Fenre_," he said gravely, accepting the folded parchment. Imladris' Lord's amusement only increased as he watched Fenre march sharply down the corridor. Gray eyes twinkled with merriment even as he turned them towards the message in his hand. The merry twinkle soon turned to curiosity, wondering what the letter portended. The wax seal was unmistakably that of Galadriel, yet Elrond could think of no reason the Lady of Light would contact him. Perhaps Arwen had sent the letter…but no. Arwen used her own seal when she wrote her father.

With a shrug, the elf shut the door to his study and strode back to his desk, breaking the seal as he went. He would not unravel the mystery until he read the missive.

As he unfolded the letter, an untidy scrawl met the grey eyes of the elf lord. Most assuredly, this was NOT the handwriting of Galadriel. However, the sight of it made Elrond's face light with joy. To see this ungainly handwriting gave him more pleasure than he could ever tell, for he had not seen it in a long, long time. The dark-haired elf slowly sank into his chair, his legs unsteady.

Estel was alive. Alive, and if he was with Galadriel, then he was undoubtedly safe. Tears of relief sparkled in Elrond's eyes. He had not known until this moment how truly worried he had been through the long silence.

Many moments passed before Elrond was able to compose himself enough to read the letter from his youngest son.

_Ada,_

_Firstly, allow me to apologize for the length of time that has passed since my last letter. Rest assured I am perfectly well._

Elrond sat straighter in his chair, his grey eyes narrowing incredulously. The only time Estel claimed that everything was all right was when there was something very, _very,_ wrong.

_Much has happened since my last letter, but if I were to try and write out all that had transpired, the letter would become much to large and I fear your interest would wane. _

A pang of worry sharpened the elf lord's keen gaze. Something had happened that Estel did not wish to speak of.

_As you may have surmised from the seal, I am currently within the borders of Lothlorien, and the guest of Lady Galadriel. I wish to return home soon, Ada, but I do not know how much time will pass before I travel to Imladris. Lady Galadriel has insisted that I visit for a few weeks._

Elrond had to stop reading for a moment. Slender fingers pressed against his temple as he took a deep breath. Estel never did this. He always knew exactly when he was leaving and when he would arrive. Something had happened to his son. Biting his lip, Elrond returned to the letter.

_Ada, at this point I know that you will have read all the euphemisms I have constructed and seen through each and every one of them. Therefore, I will speak plainly. I am not entirely well. This last journey has taken a toll on me that none has before. I do not know when I will be coming home because I do not know when I will be ready. Please, Ada, I do not write to worry you. Trust me when I say that I will be well. Already, I am healing. When I see your face, I will tell you everything that has happened, but I must speak face to face. I do not think that I could bear to write it out._

_I know that this is not entirely comforting, Ada, but know this: the danger has passed. I am safe. I will return home. It will not be much longer before I will see you face to face._

_Love,_

_Aragorn_

Elrond stared at the letter for nearly five minutes after he had read the last sentence. Finally, he refolded the parchment and rose, stepping towards his bookcase. On one of the shelves there rested a wooden box, very plainly carved. The contents of the small chest were exceedingly precious…in the elf lord's eyes.

Removing the lid, Elrond tenderly placed the letter within, joining the rest of them. There were not many, considering the amount of time that Estel had been away from home. Their scarcity, however, only made them more valuable to their recipient.

Gray eyes lingered on the weathered pages for a few minutes longer. The elf lord's heart ached sharply. These pieces of parchment were the only link he had to his son. The only sight of the young man that had left over a quarter of a century ago. Through the hastily scrawled words Elrond was able to glimpse something of what Estel was experiencing. Sometimes, that glimpse was not very reassuring. Sometimes, the half elf had wept in relief to know that part of Estel still lived and breathed. Surprisingly, Elrond's greatest fear was not for his son's life. Reading what had happened in the young ranger's life, the dark-haired elf feared at times that the most noble part of his son was slowly being buried by the harsh life he lived…then a paragraph, a sentence, sometimes only a word would let Elrond know that the core of steel in his son was firm.

With a soft sigh, the fair being lowered the lid on the small wooden box. He was worried for his son. First the long silence…now Estel's reluctance to write of what had happened. Had something finally happened to break the dark-haired ranger?

Elrond slowly moved back to his chair and sank into it. One thing was for certain. He would find out when Estel returned, and not before. Closing his eyes, Elrond clung to the promise Estel had given him. His son was safe, and soon, he would come home.

Elladan and Elrohir would want to know as quickly as possible. Of course, both of them were on patrol around the edges of Imladris' valley at the time. He would inform them the moment they returned. He knew that his twin sons had been deeply worried for the fate of their brother. Of course, the moment they heard that Estel was well they would want to rush and retrieve him from Lothlorien…

…which, now that he thought on it, was not that terrible of a plan. Yes. Why not? The twins would insist and probably depart even if he warned them against it, and Elrond had to admit that he would feel much better if Estel traveled back to Imladris in the company of his brothers rather than by himself. Yes…when the twins returned from their patrol, they could leave for Lothlorien and escort Estel home as soon as Elrond's youngest felt that he could travel. The dark-haired elf lord sighed softly. There was a time, he knew, when Estel would not only have been unhappy that his brothers came for him, he would have deeply resented the implication that he needed help in any shape or form.

However, that time had passed. Estel had grown from an insecure youth to a man. Elrond knew that this man would be glad to see his brothers.

A gentle smile curled the elf lord's lips. He was still worried for his son; worried for the harm that might have befallen him in the past years. However, Estel was alive. The smile broadened.

Estel would be home soon.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn sat down with a sigh, easing his body onto the marble bench. It was so peaceful here. So restful. Time lost meaning under the golden boughs of the _Mallorn _trees. He needed this. The ranger took a deep breath. He could smell life, and growing things in the air of Lothlorien. Aragorn remembered the air of Mordor and shuddered. There, instead of life he could smell death. Amidst the pits of that forsaken land every breath seemed to pull poison deeper and deeper into his body.

Aragorn shook himself angrily. What good did it do him to dwell on that nightmare? None. "Concentrate on where you are," he whispered. "Forget where you have been." It would not be easy, he knew. Mordor had left its scars on him. Physical and mental. The ranger groaned and rose from his seat. His body was healing quickly, and he knew that his mind was following, though more slowly. Time was all he needed, and it would seem, he was in the perfect place. Already, he had slipped within the world of the elves. It was natural to him, as easy as breathing to be amongst the fair folk of Lothlorien. Perhaps his new attire had something to do with it. Galadriel had bidden him set aside the clothing he had worn into Mordor. In place of the travel stained garments she had given him that which was worn by the elves. The dark-haired man walked about the trees clothed in a loose and comfortable white shirt, the collar opened at his throat. Over the shirt he wore a soft tunic that had been woven from some material he was not familiar with. It shimmered as he moved, as silver as his eyes. The air was cool, and he had thrown a cloak about his shoulders. A bright gem glittered at his brow, and though he had initially protested, the Lady Galadriel had insisted he wear it. He was not aware of how he looked. Yet in the cool light of the evening he appeared greater than a man; more like an elf lord. Walking slowly, the man marveled at the beauty that surrounded him. He could hear elves singing in the distance and he smiled wistfully. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that those voices belonged to his brothers and he was back home in Rivendell.

He could see them in his mind eye. Tall, slender, and fair of skin. Their grey eyes could twinkle merrily or flash with lightning. Dark hair fell past their shoulders, often held back from their faces with intricate braids. The one wore dark blue, the other, maroon. To an outsider, this was the only visible difference. Estel knew better. The one in blue, he was the elder, though only by a few minutes. Elladan. He could be stern, and overly protective of his siblings. The elf lord was fiercely committed to his family, and Estel knew that if Elladan thought it would save his younger brother, he would gladly throw himself down a dragon's throat. He smiled more than he laughed, but a wicked sense of humor lurked under his calm, delicate features.

Elrohir was like his brother, and yet not like his brother. The bond he shared with his twin was incredibly deep. Quick to empathize with others, he was more personable than his elder brother. Often, he was the steady hand at Elladan's shoulder, holding the other elf's temper in check. Not that he did not have his own temper. Both elves were dangerous creatures in their anger, but Elrohir was more likely to keep his head than Elladan. Pranks amused the younger twin, and in that respect he and Elladan were perfectly matched.

Aragorn chuckled softly to himself. He remembered some of the tricks they had played on him! Not only younger than them but human as well he had fallen easy prey to some of the pranks that would not have caught an elf. The two brothers teased and tortured him as their duty, being older siblings.

Yet he knew how much they cared for him. They had instructed him in weapon use. They had given him his first sword. They had haunted the corridor outside his bedchamber if ever he fell ill or was injured.

They had followed him when he was struggling to prove to them that he did not need them. Risking their own lives, the elves almost died. But they would not abandon their brother.

Tears welled in the silver eyes, making them shimmer in the starlight. How he missed them! The _mallorn _trees blurred together in his sight. With a sigh, the ranger rubbed his rough, callused hand across his eyes, clearing his vision.

And she was there.

An elf maiden, tall and slender. Fair skin was framed dramatically by the raven hair that fell around her shoulders and down her back.

For an instant, Aragorn wondered if his homesick reminiscing had somehow summoned her here. For after her brothers his thoughts had almost always turned to her in the past years since he had last seen her. He had been only twenty at the time, and now he was closer to fifty. Well he remembered her. He had promised himself that he would be worthy of her. When he had first laid eyes on her, he had called after her the first name that came to mind. Tinuviel. The elf maid that had captured a mortal's heart. He knew in that split second it would be his fate.

She was not Tinuviel, though she was distant kin to the fabled elf maiden. She was the daughter of Elrond and Celebrian. The granddaughter of lady Galadriel.

Arwen. The Evenstar of her people.

0-0-0-0

When she first caught sight of him, the elf maiden assumed he was an elf lord. A visiting dignitary from Mirkwood perhaps, or maybe even her own home, Imladris. Most likely from Imladris. Wood elves tended to dress in more earthy tones, such as the green and brown of their beloved forest. This lord was clothed in silver and white. She could see the gem on his brow gleaming in the dimming light. It reminded her of the tale of Earendil, her grandsire, who sailed across the sky every evening with a precious gem bound to his forehead.

Arwen smiled softly. She had not been home for many years now. Though elves did not feel the passing of time as mortals did, she sometimes longed to hear from her father and her brothers and…him. But she had not seen or heard a word of him for nearly thirty years.

The lord was walking towards her through the trees. Obviously, he intended to join her. Perhaps he carried a letter from her father or her brothers. The lovely elleth's smile widened somewhat as she tried to imagine either of the twins sitting down and writing a letter. Not that they didn't care for their younger sister, for she knew that they did, a very great deal. However, they were horrible correspondents.

The last fading light of the sun slanted through the trees as the lord approached, finally lighting his face so that she could see him clearly.

Arwen gasped. It was _him_. Changed, and older, but undeniably him. This was the young man who had called after her in her father's garden, naming her after her ancestor. She remembered what she had told him then. She had gravely said that her doom might be one and the same as Tinuviel.

The elf maiden looked on the man that she had not seen in nearly thirty years.

His appearance had not changed overly much. Though time had passed it had left him almost as untouched as herself. Almost. Not completely. There were lines about his eyes, and hard-bought wisdom in his face. There was something else in his eyes too. Something she had seen when first they had met. She knew then that he loved her.

In the few moments before he reached her side, her choice was made and her doom appointed.

0-0-0-0-0-0

_Later, as the eve of midsummer approaches._

0-0-0-0

Nearly an entire season had passed since Aragorn had fallen into Haldir's arms. Injured and frightened he had sought a place of rest. And he had found it.

The man that strode through Lothlorien's trees was whole and healthy. Sunlight danced through the boughs of the _Mallorn_ trees and over his dark hair. The flash of his silver eyes seemed to reflect the golden rays back into the sky. His bearded cheeks twitched as a grin curled the corner of his mouth. Aragorn stopped for a moment, suddenly amazed. His fingers touched his mouth wonderingly. Not so very long ago, he would have thought that he would never be able to smile again. Now here he was, simply able to enjoy the summer's bright sunlight gleaming through the trees of Lothlorien.

The dark-haired ranger suddenly laughed, his voice joyful. A new spring came to his step as he continued on. He was meeting someone. Someone who might be part of the reason he was now able to smile again.

He could see the green hill, Cerin Amroth, and upon it…his heart contracted at the sight of her.

Slender and graceful, the Evenstar of her people was already waiting for him. For a few moments, Aragorn could not approach. He did not wish to break the peaceful spell that seemed to rest upon her. She was unaware of his presence, and was humming the lay of Luthien softly to herself. Aragorn swallowed hard as he heard the familiar, haunting tune. Doubts rose hauntingly in the back of his mind. Who did he think he was to ask _that_ of her? Perhaps what he wished to say should not be spoken…

A moment before the human had convinced himself to turn and flee, the elf maiden caught sight of him. A gentle smile lit her fair features. "Estel!"

He could not move. He could only watch, his heart in his throat as Arwen approached him. Her dark hair flowed around delicate features. Grey eyes shone with delight…caused by the sight of him. The elf maiden caught hold of his arm and tugged at it gently. "Will you walk with me, Estel?"

His calloused hand closed over the slender fingers that lay on his arm. "Of course, _hiril nin._"

0-0-0-0

Evening was swiftly closing in on the two beings, yet they did not notice the passing of time. They were caught in a sweet world of their own making where the passage of the sun meant little.

Aragorn leaned his back against a tree, laughing merrily. It felt so good to laugh, and to laugh with her. "I cannot believe that Elladan would ever do something so foolish!" The ranger's legs were stretched out before him, his feet unshod. Arwen knelt beside him, her slender fingers caressing the petals of the elanor blossoms the dark-haired man had plucked for her. Her gray eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Even Elladan and Elrohir were young at one time, and young beings are always bound to follow foolish paths. This particular path just happened to lead to the den of a very angry bear."

Mirth rose again in the heart of the ranger. He laughed until tears sparkled in his silver eyes. He felt…alive. She made him feel alive. She completed him. Seeing the twinkle in her grey eyes drove away the dark shadows of Mordor. Her very presence was a talisman against the evils of that land. Something beautiful to counteract the ugliness; something wonderful and precious to counteract the evil maliciousness.

Her fair face was turned towards the flowers she held in her lap, the dark hair spilling over her shoulder and obscuring her features. He wanted to see her face all the time.

Without meaning to, his hand stretched out, reaching to touch the dark, silky waves…

Arwen looked up, her lips curved in a smile.

The hand that had been reaching out was snatched back too fast for even elven eyes to follow. Aragorn smiled back, even though he felt oddly disappointed.

"You are better, are you not?" she asked quietly. He must have looked confused, because she hastened to clarify her question. "Since the time you arrived. Your wounds have healed, yes? You are better?"

"Much better," he replied, touched that she was asking after his well being. To his surprise, he saw her face fall slightly.

Arwen turned from him, allowing her long hair to fall like a curtain between them. Aragorn felt as though a door had been slammed in his face. "_Hiril nin_?" he asked quietly, leaning towards her slightly. "Did I say something wrong? Are you…not pleased that I am better?"

The elf maid's head jerked around so fast Aragorn wondered how she did not snap her own neck. "No!" her tone was horrified and the grey eyes were wide. "How could I be unhappy to know that you are healing? I only wanted…" the sweet lips shut with a snap, hot color flooding her pale face.

Aragorn would have given his left arm at that moment to know exactly what it was that she wanted, but wisely decided not to press.

Arwen's fingers twisted the hem of her sleeve nervously. "I…It's just that…you will be leaving soon. I will most likely not see you for a very long time."

"And that makes you unhappy?" The dark-haired ranger asked quietly, his nerves stretched to breaking.

The elf maiden's long fingers ceased to fiddle with her clothing. She looked into his face, her grey eyes meeting his silver ones. "Yes," she said gravely. "To think that I will not see you again, perhaps _never_ see you again, makes me very unhappy. Estel…" She stretched her hand and he caught it in his own. Tears were suddenly swimming in her grey eyes. "Do you know why I was singing the Lay of Luthien?"

Yes. He did know. Aragorn found himself oddly near tears as well. How long had he loved this woman already? Longer than he had lived before he had known her. He knew that he had longer still to wait before they could truly be together. However, for the moment, he wanted to make sure that she would wait. He needed to ask her…

"Arwen," Aragorn squeezed her small hand tightly for an instant, then released it. With a gentle tug, he pulled the silver ring of Barahir from his own finger and held it out to her. "Do you know what this is?"

With a slightly bemused expression, the elf maid nodded. Indeed, she was probably more familiar with the object than he was. Aragorn knew this. He was not trying to educate her on the artifacts of the Gondorian kings.

"You know what it represents."

Another nod, slower.

"You know my destiny."

Arwen's response was a very grave look.

His mouth was turning dry. "You know what will be your fate if you choose to stay with me?" When she did not answer, he hurried on. "Do you really wish Luthien's story to be your own?"

The dark-haired elf maid slowly shook her head. "No," she said quietly.

So that was it. Aragorn smiled gently, even though he felt as though his heart was about to break into small pieces. He could not blame her. In fact, he was almost relieved. He would not be the cause of death for one of the first born…he would not grow old while his wife remained young…and she would be happy. Above all, he wanted _her_ to be happy.

Her slender fingers suddenly reached out and caught hold of the hand that held Barahir. A small smile curled the corner of her mouth. "I want my _own_ story. And my story is a part of your story, Estel." Arwen tightened her hold slightly. "Dark is the Shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it."

A shaft of bitter pain seemed to pierce Aragorn's heart. She was so sure…much more than he. "Alas," he murmured. "I cannot foresee it, and how it may come to pass is hidden from me." He had traveled through the Black Land; seen the growing strength of the Dark Lord. He knew the path that he must take, but the evil of Mordor was fresh in his mind. Would he be able to overcome that malicious will? Despite his fears, however, when he saw the confidence in her beautiful grey eyes, he could not help but smile. "Yet with your hope, I will hope," he assured her. "And the Shadow I utterly reject. But," his voice dropped, and he spoke almost to himself rather than her. "neither, lady, is the Twilight for me; for I am a mortal." How often had that reality caused him pain? How often had the knowledge that one day he would be left behind made him grieve? Someday…someday his father, the twins, Legolas…all would sail to the West. They would sail into the Twilight and he would remain. "And if you will cleave to me, Evenstar, then the Twilight you must also renounce."

Arwen did not answer for a very long time. Quietly, she stood, and turned her pale face towards the West, watching the sun sink out of sight. Her dark hair blended into the growing shadows of the Mallorn trees until all that could be seen of her was the faint glow of her skin; the light of the Eldar.

At last she turned back towards him. "I will cleave to you, Dunadan, and turn from the Twilight. Yet there lies the land of my people, and…" a tear slowly traced her fair cheek. "and the long home of all my kin."

She smiled, but he could see that the choice had cost her dearly. He wanted to say something comforting. He wanted to eloquently express the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him. Unfortunately, he found that he could say nothing at all. Rising to his feet, Aragorn reached out and folded his love into his arms, holding her as if he never wanted to release her slim form again.

"I will be leaving soon," Aragorn whispered against her hair. "I don't know how long it will be before I may see you again, Evenstar…" He clasped her hand in his own for a moment. When he released her slim fingers, Barahir rested in her palm.

"To remind me of you?" she asked quietly, gazing into his silver eyes.

He nodded once.

Arwen drew a chain from around her neck, unfastened it, and slid the clasp through Barahir before attaching it once more around her throat. She smiled, and the smile was a happy one. Though time would come, Aragorn knew, that her decision would cause her pain, it would not come now.

For now, they could be happy.

0-0-0-0

A lithe, blonde elf gazed listlessly over the rippling foliage of Mirkwood. From his vantage point the trees seemed to be an endless sea of green, ebbing and flowing with the wind. The elf sighed softly. He loved his home. He loved his people. He loved his father, who was the only family left to him. Yet he was restless.

With cat-like grace the elf stood and began to pace, his light feet barely causing the branch to move, despite its slenderness. He had climbed high so as to push his fair face through the leaves and see sunlight. There were times when the darkness of his home depressed him. Usually, when one of these times came upon him he would leave and travel to the valley of Imladris. It had been ten years since his last visit. It was odd that such a length of time had passed.

He had enjoyed his last visit of course. The twins had long been his friends. But there had been emptiness. Something missing. A person, the echo of whom haunted the shadows in the evening when the friends gathered around a fire. It was his voice that was missing from their songs and their laughter, making a curiously empty sound in the halls of the last Homely House.

Where was Aragorn? Lord Elrond would not admit it, but Legolas had seen in the gray eyes a worry that never slept. The twins would say nothing, but he could read in their faces how much they missed their younger brother. He himself would not broach the subject, but every time he looked for the silver eyes, preparing to exchange a conspiratorial wink, he was met with his friend's absence. He had not seen or heard from the dark-haired man in over twenty-five years. And he missed him.

A light breeze stirred Legolas' golden braids and the prince smiled bleakly. Soon he would have to be back at the palace. He didn't want to descend into the darkness of Mirkwood again, but he knew that he had responsibilities. His father was probably expecting him to be home before now. With a deep groan, the elven prince slid from his branch and began the climb down, his spirits sinking even as he grew closer to the ground. By the time his light feet touched the earth he was thoroughly depressed. Sunlight did not penetrate Mirkwood's leafy ceiling, and the air beneath the branches was smotheringly still, especially after he had felt the light breeze on his cheeks only moments before.

In a fine state of gloom, Legolas made his way back to the palace. "_Edro_," he spoke and the gates swung inwards at his command.

The second he entered the courtyard, Legolas knew that something was out of the ordinary. For one, his father was waiting for him. Thranduil stood in the center of the paved entry, his arms folded across his chest, green eyes fixed on the gates. Legolas quickly wondered if he had done something amiss, but nothing rose immediately to mind. However, it was very unusual for the Elvenking to await his son. In fact, the only times in Legolas' memory were times when Thranduil knew that his son might be returning home somewhat damaged.

"_Ada_?" Legolas quickly strode through the gates towards his father. "_Ada_, what is it?" The prince's blue eyes suddenly locked on the other figure standing beside the Elvenking. It was an elf, fair of hair and features. His livery marked him as one of the Galadhrim. A messenger from the wood of Lothlorien. What on earth was going on? Legolas caught his father's eyes and was relieved to see that Thranduil was actually smiling. However, the king's smile only added to the mystery of whatever was transpiring.

The Elvenking slowly unfolded his arms, and Legolas saw that Thranduil held a letter in one hand. "Amroth of Lothlorien arrived a little over an hour ago, Legolas."

The prince winced inwardly. Though his father was smiling, Legolas knew that he was supposed to have been back at the palace over an hour ago. There was a subtle rebuke in the gentle words.

Thranduil continued, apparently unaware of Legolas inward squirmings. "He brought with him a message."

A message from Lothlorien? What could it be? What would the Lady of Light have to say to the ruler of Mirkwood?

To Legolas utter surprise, Thranduil suddenly held out the letter for him to take. "It is for you."

"There must be some mistake," the fair prince slowly took the letter, his eyes on his father's face. "What would the Lady Galadriel have to say to me?"

The Galadhrim found that amusing. He snorted softly in an attempt to keep from laughing.

"I think you should look closer at the handwriting, _ion nin,_" Thranduil said dryly, raising a golden eyebrow ever so slightly.

Legolas looked down at the piece of folded paper he held in his long fingers. His name was written on it…in a hand he would never have forgotten in a million years. With a yelp the prince nearly ripped the letter in half in his hurry to unfold it.

Blue eyes traveled down the page at the speed of light, hastily drinking in the contents of the letter. For a moment, Legolas could not say a word. Something powerful was stirring in him. A well of emotion that had been building for the past quarter of a century.

A howl of triumph burst from the elf prince like the cry of a wolf. Ignoring the slightly shocked expression of the messenger and the resigned one of his father, Legolas hurtled away, going into some kind of victory dance in the courtyard.

"I imagine he received good news," the messenger commented finally, watching the crown prince of Mirkwood turning cartwheels.

"Yes," Thranduil replied dryly. "A pity he has never learned to show his emotion."

0-0-0-0

Thranduil stood in the doorway to his son's chamber, unnoticed by the younger elf. After he had settled down somewhat, Legolas had been eager to set out for Rivendell immediately, but after much persuading, had finally agreed to wait till the next morning. The rest of the afternoon and evening had passed in a blur of travel preparations. Thranduil had seen to most of them. The prince's thoughts had been very far away, meeting with an old friend. Even now, though it was far past midnight, Legolas was not asleep. The fair elf sat at his window, his letter held loosely in his hand.

"You can stare into the night all you wish _ion nin_," Thranduil said, his tone jesting. "But it will not make the sun come any faster."

Legolas started. Obviously, he had not heard his father approach. "_Ada_! I did not know you were there." He started to rise, but Thranduil waved a hand, motioning that he stay seated. The Elvenking crossed the room and joined his son on the window seat.

"You're up awfully late for one so determined to leave early in the morning, Legolas."

A small smile curled the prince's lips. "I could not sleep, _Ada_."

Thranduil smiled in return. He knew his son's attention was somewhere else entirely, and was therefore able to study the young elf's features without making the prince uncomfortable. How long had it been since he had seen his son this excited? His blue eyes were alight; sparkling with anticipation. Lately, he had noticed that Legolas had seemed somewhat unhappy within the shadows of Mirkwood. The golden king was actually almost as pleased as Legolas to receive Strider's letter, for Thranduil knew that a large portion of Legolas' melancholy came from his friend's absence. Legolas had worried for the ranger over the years, and it had showed. Though he tried to hide it, the elven prince could not entirely conceal his concern over the past quarter century. Even visiting Rivendell did not dispel his gloom. Thranduil remembered how Legolas had returned from the last trip to Imladris…

----------------

_Thranduil peered around the doorpost into his son's room, a smile on his face, ready to welcome is son home. He had seen the young prince arrive from the window of his study, but when he had made his way to the courtyard the Elvenking had been informed that Legolas had gone straight to his bedchamber._

_The smile froze on Thranduil's lips. Something was wrong. Legolas was seated at his window seat, his forehead resting against the glass. Unaware of his father's presence, the prince's shoulders were slumped, his face drawn. The Elvenking frowned. He had not seen his son looking so entirely dejected in a very, very long time. What had happened?_

"_Legolas?"_

_The young elf whirled, a smile plastering itself over his fair face. "Ada!" With light steps, Legolas crossed the room and embraced his father warmly. His smile was so real, and his voice so bright, Thranduil wondered if he had read the prince's previous expression correctly. Perhaps he had just been tired…? The Elvenking held his son at arm's length and looked deeply into the blue eyes. No. He had not been mistaken. Though Legolas' lips smiled, his eyes were dull and miserable. Thranduil's heart twisted in his chest. What had happened to cause his child pain? Whatever it was, Legolas obviously did not want his distress to be noticed. The king longed to know what was wrong, but realized the complete waste of time it would be to question his son if the prince did not wish to reveal anything. _

"_Did you enjoy your visit, Legolas?"_

"_Aye." The smile faltered slightly, but Legolas quickly hitched it back into place. "Very much, Ada." For a moment, his smile twinkled from the blue eyes. "And as you can see, I have returned with no injuries."_

"_A miracle in and of itself," Thranduil remarked dryly. "And what of the sons of Elrond? Did they too avoid mishap during your stay?"_

_It was as if a cold winter wind rushed into the space between his words and blew away every remnant of the smile that had barely formed. Legolas' lips seemed to be frozen in a sort of grimace, his eyes cold. "The twins are fine," he said woodenly._

_Had something happened to Strider? Was that the reason for his son's unhappiness? Before he could open his mouth to ask, Legolas continued._

"_I did not see Estel. He was not there."_

_Ah. So that was it. Thranduil knew, as Legolas did, that Estel had set out to serve among the Rohirrim. Legolas had not seen him since, nor, as far as Thranduil knew, heard from him directly. Every time the prince visited Rivendell, Lord Elrond gave him news of the ranger's doings…but Thranduil knew how much Legolas missed his friend. _

_Legolas turned away, moving to unpack his traveling gear. His slender shoulders were slumped, and his feet did not move with the lightness that usually characterized the young elf's gait._

_The father ached to see his son unhappy. Unfortunately, there was only one cure for the prince's melancholy, and Thranduil knew that he could not provide it. The elder elf stepped forward and gently caught hold of his son's shoulder. Legolas froze, but did not turn._

"_Ada?"_

_A comforting squeeze was all he could give. A small gesture, given to show that he was there, if his son needed him._

_Legolas did not say anything, but a slender hand reached up to clasp the Elvenking's fingers gratefully._

_-----------------_

Thranduil compared the Legolas of that last trip, to the Legolas about to embark on the current journey. He saw the joy in his son's blue eyes and he smiled, feeling more at ease than he had in a long time. One hand shot out, playfully tousling the prince's golden hair. Legolas yelped in protest and tried to duck away, but he was laughing. He was _laughing._ Thranduil could not help but join him.

Yes, the Elvenking was forced to admit that he was very, _very_ happy to see his son's gloom dispersed. It was like seeing storm clouds break apart, revealing the golden sun and clear blue sky.

Unfortunately, in his joy, the elf had completely forgotten that Legolas and his human friend together had the tendency to become involved in situations of dire peril.

0-0-0-0

In all honesty, Legolas had forgotten this himself. The prince was consumed with thoughts of his friend, and did not recall the many times he (or Strider or both) had come close to an untimely and highly painful demise.

Instead, the young elf's head was filled with plans for travel. After all, he would be leaving very early the next morning. Strider had mentioned in his letter that by the time Legolas had received the missive, he, Strider would have already left Lothlorien and be on his way to Rivendell.

Legolas felt his heart pump faster. He would be traveling to Imladris tomorrow! He would see Strider within a few days!

The elf swatted playfully at his father's hand, dislodging the Elvenking's long fingers from his now tangled braids. "_Ada_! I am not an elfling anymore!"

"Infant," the elfder elf snorted affectionately as he withdrew his hand. "Show me the proof of this statement."

Legolas straightened his slender body, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. The prince's blue eyes met the king's green ones. Though Thranduil was broader in shoulders and chest, there was not an inch of difference in their height.

The fair king snorted again, but he could not hide the smile that threatened to break out across his handsome face. "Height does _not_ equal maturity," he observed drily.

"But it does mean that I have passed the elfling stage," Legolas insisted.

Thranduil merely rolled his green eyes, causing Legolas' smile to broaden. "I will leave you to your packing," the fair king said with as much dignity as he could muster when he was trying so very hard not to chuckle. He turned to go, but stopped as he felt a slender hand descend on his shoulder.

Thranduil turned his golden head to see his son smiling at him somewhat sheepishly. "I…that is…will you see me off tomorrow?"

A small smile pulled at the corners of the father's mouth. "Of course," he said casually.

Legolas could feel his pointed ears reddening slightly. After his declaration that he was not an elfling, he knew that he must sound like a little child asking his father to see him before he left, especially since he was leaving so early. The king's life was a busy one, and Legolas hated to intrude on the few hours of sleep that Thranduil allowed himself to take every night…

"Legolas," Thranduil said seriously, "promise me that you will be careful? Will you try to return with no bones broken at least?"

"I always try, _Ada_," Legolas said lightly. "But you know that my ill luck is entirely Estel's fault…"

0-0-0-0

Miles away from the forest of Mirkwood, an angry storm was leasing its fury on the inhabitants of the elven refuge, Imladris. Lightning flickered across the inky sky, lighting the roiling clouds in brilliant flashes of light. Thunder boomed deafeningly. Thunder and lightning were accompanied by sheets of torrential rain. Though it was summer still, the rain was icy cold. A fierce wind blew through the night, driving the biting rain like nails into the bare skin of any poor soul foolish enough to be outdoors.

Elrohir pulled the hood of his cloak lower, wincing as the wind drove icy rain through the thick cloth. He was soaked, tired, hungry, freezing, and in danger of being electrocuted if he stayed out much longer. Fortunately, his destination was near. The young elf lord's horse plodded into the wind, and Elrohir winced for his poor beast's sake as much as his own. _Soon,_ he promised the animal. _You'll have a warm stable and I a bed_. The promise was as much to him as the horse. If the Last Homely House hadn't been so near, Elrohir would've suggested finding a cave and staying there at least until the storm had played itself out. In fact, he _had_ suggested just such a course of action.

But no. The younger twin's gray eyes shot daggers from underneath his dripping hood to the figure he could barely see in front of him, even though the figure was only a few yards ahead. Pelting rain accompanied by gusting blasts of wind made visibility very low. However, Elrohir did not need his elven vision to see his companion. He always knew where the other elf was. One of the benefits of being twins.

Benefits or curses. Depended on the circumstances. At the moment, Elrohir was cursing. He was cursing his elder brother with a very creative assortment of invectives from various dialects including those of the mountain dwarves and some very obscure Southron tongues. Not that Elladan could hear him. Even elven hearing would be overwhelmed by the shrieking wind, and thunder. And if that wasn't enough, the pouring rain soaked through the hoods and plastered them over ears, cutting out sound as effectively as a pair of earmuffs.

It had been Elladan's idea to continue on. Elladan had decided that they were close enough to home that they would most likely outrun the storm.

The daggers Elrohir was glaring became javelins.

As if he felt the imaginary weapons piercing the back of his head, Elladan suddenly reigned in his mount. The elder elf turned in his saddle and motioned for Elrohir to come along beside him.

Still grumbling, Elrohir came up to his brother and brought his horse to a halt. Elladan grinned at his twin from beneath his dripping hood, ignoring the deathly glare he received. "Look, Ro." The young elf lord pointed through the sheets of icy rain.

Wondering how he was supposed to see anything, Elrohir turned his gaze in the direction Elladan was pointing. A small smile barely curled the corners of his lips. Through the inky blackness of the stormy night, the dark-haired elf lord could just make out a warm glimmer.

Lights, from their father's house.

They were home.

0-0-0-0

Elladan tugged with numb fingers at his cloak's tie. The thick cloth was completely soaked, and clung to the slender elf like a second skin. Dark hair lay plastered to his face and neck, dripping softly. Elrohir was not in any better condition. In fact, his twin resembled a highly disgruntled drowned rat.

Elves from his father's household had come to greet them the moment they entered the hall, bearing towels and hot mugs of spiced wine.

Elladan finally managed to remove the cloak. Letting it slither to the floor, he gratefully accepted a towel and wrapped it around his shoulders tightly. A warm mug was thrust into his cold fingers and he sighed. Whatever hell he and his brother had gone through that night, it was over now. The young elf lord glanced at his brother, expecting to share a smile of relief.

He was met with an icy glare almost as cold as the wet clothes he still wore. Elrohir had also shed his cloak and was in the process of toweling his dark hair vigorously. Despite the fact that he now looked liked a hedgehog, the younger twin managed to send a truly evil look at his elder brother.

"Home before you know it," Elrohir said in a soft, dangerous voice. He handed off the damp towel and accepted another to wrap around his shoulders, thanking the elves who attended him kindly. Taking a hot mug for himself, the elf turned a cold look back on his brother. "Those were your words, were they not?" Without waiting for an answer, Elrohir set off for the stairs, leaving small puddles of water in his wake.

"Oh come on," Elladan wheedled, following his twin. "Don't tell me you're still upset about getting a little wet…"

"A _little_ wet?!" Elrohir spun so quickly he almost overbalanced. Dark eyebrows drew together alarmingly. "Elladan, we could not have gotten more saturated if we jumped in the river! All because," he growled menacingly, taking a step towards his brother. "_Someone,_" a long finger prodded Elladan's chest, making a squishing sound. "thought that we could beat the storm, and even if we couldn't, the storm couldn't possibly be that bad." Gray eyes burned brightly in the fair face as the younger twin glared at the elder, the silence in the hall broken only by the quiet dripping of their clothing.

"I suppose I miscalculated," Elladan admitted, trying hard not to grin. He knew that Elrohir really was somewhat peeved, but he was having a very hard time taking his twin seriously when the young elf lord strongly resembled a drowned rat.

Elrohir raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I suppose it would kill you to apologize for dragging me through the icy, pouring rain?"

"Of course not." Elladan bit his lip, trying hard not to laugh.

"You're not going to, are you."

"No."

In unison, the elf lords' lips twitched into smiles. Elrohir threw his hands into the air and turned back to the stairs, squelching damply to his room and a fresh change of clothing.

Elladan leaned against the stair railing for a moment, chuckling. He knew that Elrohir bore him no real ill will. As soon as the younger elf was dried out, he would be back to his merry self. Elladan would be happy of some dry clothes himself. Elf though he was, the storm had been more than a little uncomfortable. He was less susceptible to cold than a mortal, but even he was shivering in his wet garments. If Estel had been traveling with them, the human would have been made ill for sure…

The smile that lingered around Elladan's lips became slightly wistful as he began to climb the stairs. His youngest brother was always close to his thoughts, but it was moments like these that brought memories of the young human to mind.

A fresh shiver brought the dark-haired elf back to the present. Quickly, he vaulted up the last few steps and strode towards his room. Ada was going to kill them when he saw the wet trails he and Elrohir were leaving in their wake…

Someone had lit a fire in Elladan's room and the elf sighed gratefully. Throwing off the towel he had wrapped around his shoulders, Elladan quickly shrugged out of his sopping tunic. The tunic was flopped over the back of a chair to dry. Ada wouldn't be happy about that either if he saw it, but Elladan had every intention of taking care of his damp clothing before his father discovered the dripping garment. With a shrug, the elder twin moved towards his wardrobe, intent upon dry clothing.

"Elladan."

The young elf froze, midstep. His braids were still dripping and the water snaked coldly down his back. Elladan turned to see his father standing beside the chair, looking down at the pool of water collecting on the carpet from his son's discarded tunic. The lord of Imladris merely raised an eyebrow, his expression calm, as always.

It was amazing, Elladan reflected, how the simple twitch of a fairly small muscle was enough to make him feel 100 years old again. "_Ada_," he said sweetly, smiling brightly. "I did not think that you would be awake."

"I heard you return," Elrond replied. His gray eyes gave the dripping tunic a final disapproving glance before they met his son's gaze. A warm smile broke out over the elf lord's features. "I am glad to see you returned safely, _ion nin_." Ignoring the water still glistening on the younger elf's torso and dripping from his dark braids, Elrond took a step forward and pulled his eldest son into an embrace.

Elladan smiled into his father's shoulder and sighed. He was home.

0-0-0-0

Elrohir peered around the doorframe, looking into his brother's room. A smile lit his fair features. Though his dark hair was still damp and tangled, a change of clothing had done wonders for the younger twin's mood. When he had heard the soft murmur of his father's voice, he was quick to cross the hall to his brother's room.

"_Ada_!"

Elrond released Elladan and turned. "Elrohir. Welcome home, _ion nin_."

Elrohir stepped forward into the strong arms that opened for him. "It is good to be home, _Ada._" He pulled back slightly, a worried frown drawing his dark brows together. "We did not wake you, did we?"

"No," Elrond reassured him, the elf lord's gray eyes shining as he gazed at his two sons. "No, I felt sure that you two would arrive tonight…and I have something rather important to tell you. So I decided to wait."

Elrohir could see the smile the threatened to curl the corner's of his father's lips. He was surprised. The dignified Lord of Imladris was behaving like a small elfling with a secret he couldn't wait to impart. "_Ada…_?"

"However," Elrond swiftly hid the smile behind a mask of dignity. "I don't think that waiting a little longer will do me a great deal of harm." Gray eyes gazed fondly at his sons. "Why don't you finish changing," he glanced at Elladan's still dripping form, "and come down to my study whenever you are ready."

The lord of Imladris swept from the room in a dignified manner, his long robes barely whispering across the carpet. As soon as the elder elf had disappeared down the hall, Elrohir turned to Elladan excitedly. "It has to be about Estel."

Elladan nodded, already crossing to his wardrobe to draw out fresh clothing. The elder twin was trying to appear relaxed, but he could not hide the trembling of his fingers. With feverish haste, he threw on the first tunic that his hand fell on. His straggling, raven hair was tied back with a thong, and he was halfway out of the door before Elrohir laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

Confused, Elladan glanced backwards to see Elrohir smirking at him. "Elladan," he said in a voice that clearly said he was trying not to laugh. "I know that you are as anxious as I to hear of Estel…"

"So release me!" Elladan rolled his gray eyes at his twin. "The faster we reach _Ada's_ study the faster we find out what he wishes to tell us!"

"As you wish." Elrohir lifted his hand and followed in his brother's wake, snickering softly into his fist. The younger waited until both young elf lord's stood before the door to their father's study before he spoke again.

"Dan…"

Elladan's hand had already closed around the doorknob. "Yes?" He turned the knob and started to push the heavy portal open.

"You tunic is on backwards."

0-0-0-0

Elrond looked up from his desk as he heard his door open. Framed in the doorway stood two of his sons. Their raven colored hair was still damp, Elrohir's straggling around his shoulders and Elladan's roughly tied back. Both looked tired and worn out from their journey. The father frowned, wondering if he should have waited until the morning to let them know he had something to tell them.

"_Ada,_" Elladan stepped into the room and seated himself on the right-hand side of his father's desk, looking down into the elder elf's face. Elrohir immediately took the same position on the left, his expression almost identical to his brother's.

Elrohir leaned forward slightly. "Did you hear something of Estel, _Ada_?"

They already suspected. There was no way he could not tell them now. A wide smile split the elf lord's face as he gazed up at the twins. "Yes." Elrond pushed his chair back and rose gracefully. Moving to his bookshelf, he removed Estel's most recent letter from the little box and held it out, quickly snatching his hand back to prevent it being ripped off.

Both twins bent over the piece of parchment, their foreheads nearly touching. Two pairs of gray eyes rolled back and forth as the elves swiftly read through their younger brother's brief message. They finished at the same moment. Elladan immediately rose to his feet and began to pace, his dark eyebrows knit closely together. "He is in Lothlorien right now, _Ada_?"

"I would assume so," Elrond said casually. "The letter arrived at the beginning of this summer. He is either still under the trees of the Golden Wood, or he has just barely begun his journey home, I should think."

Elrohir looked up from rereading Estel's letter and caught his brother's gaze. Elrond smiled softly to himself. He could see their thoughts flashing across their similar faces almost as though the words had been tattooed there for all to see. A small sigh of relief left him.

"_Ada…_" Elladan turned to look at his father, his long fingers toying with a stray strand of hair. "I know that we have just arrived…"

"And we know that Estel is an adult…" Elrohir interrupted, also rising from his seat.

"But we want to go and fetch him." They finished in unison, just as they had done so often when they were small elflings.

Obviously, they expected him to resist. He could see it in the firm way they had set their jaws, and the resolution flashing from both pairs of gray eyes. However, little did they know that he was about to shock them both.

"I have absolutely no intention…"

Both twins scowled, and Elrond held up a hand, forestalling an interruption. "…of trying to make you stay." The comical look of amazement that spread over both faces was so amusing, the dark-haired elf lord almost snorted with laughter. "In fact," he continued, coming forward to lay a hand on each of their shoulders. "this is exactly what I was hoping you would say. I know that you have traveled far, and that you are weary, but it would ease my mind to know that whatever has happened to Estel, his brothers will be at his side on the journey home."

Elladan looked sideways at his brother. Elrohir met his gaze and shrugged ever so slightly as if to say, 'don't worry, of course _Ada_ has gone crazy, but as long as it's working out in our favor we should humor him.' They shared a wicked smile. "When can we leave?" Elrohir asked sweetly.

Elrond fought the very un-elf-lord-like desire to roll his eyes. His son's were incorrigible. "Not tomorrow morning," he said sternly. "Tomorrow, you are to rest."

Another exchanged look as eloquent as a well worded speech. Obviously, the twins agreed that rest was the absolutely last thing on either of their minds.

0-0-0-0

Far away in Mirkwood, Legolas lay back against his pillows, hands folded behind his golden head. Though he was leaving early in the morning, he was still awake, his mind consumed with thoughts of his journey.

Rest was the last thing on his mind.

0-0-0-0

A dark-haired man stood at the edge of a flet in the very heart of Lothlorien. Aragorn looked out over the Golden Wood, his silver eyes peaceful. The nightmares of Mordor had been driven away by the reflected light of the Evenstar. Tomorrow, he would leave her side. He did not know when he would see her again. Though he was saddened to leave her, a part of him rejoiced in his journey. He would be going home. For the first time in a quarter of a century, he would see his father and brothers. He would see Legolas.

He knew that he should take to his bed, but rest was the last thing on his mind.

0-0-0-0

Hidden in the wilds between Lothlorien and Imladris waited another who was not concerned with rest that night.

An old man sat before a fire, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed forward. White hair fell around his weathered face. His chosen place of rest would seem odd to many. The fire burned on the rock floor of a fairly spacious cave, while outside a storm raged in impotent fury. What was such an old man doing out in the middle of the Misty Mountains? Did he not know that the mountains were thick with goblins?

Of course he knew.

He also knew, however, that none of the goblins that lived within the Misty Mountains would dare to touch him. Not while he was surrounded by a group of at least twenty men and orcs. Ordinarily, this would not have troubled the goblins overly much. They would have proceeded to attack the intruders.

But the orcs were no mountain orcs. Nor were the men ordinary men. All bore the device of the red eye.

As much as they hated the intrusion, the goblins of the Misty Mountains were too cunning to purposefully attack those sent from the black land. They knew that reinforcements would soon arrive and hunt them out of their holes like weasels. Better to forfeit the rights to the cave and leave well enough alone.

A twisted smile curled the man's lip. He had been here for two years now. Waiting. The cave lay very near the only path through the mountains. From his current position, the road was easily watched though anyone using the trail could not observe _him_. Perfect.

There were, and had been murmurs amongst his group over the past two years of course. Some thought that he was wasting his time.

He knew that he wasn't.

His prey would come. He knew it.

Slowly, Halith lifted his head and shook his white hair back out of his eye. The fire's dancing lights created deep shadows in his lined and scarred face. He stood, stretching. The wind howled outside and a gust blew rain through the opening of the cave. Halith's lips twisted a little more, deepening the creases around his mouth.

What was more, his prey would come _soon_.

0-0-0-0

_Ada—Father_

_Caladhiril--Lady of light_

_Elrondion--Son of Elrond_

_Hiril nin—my lady_

_Hir nin—my lord_

_Ion nin—my son_

0-0-0-0

**Now I know that I've been horrible and not updated as I should have, but could you forgive me and review anyway? Pwetty pwease? The next chapter WILL be here by next Friday, I promise.**


	4. Into the Trap

**AHA!!! Now I bet all of you thought that I wouldn't post on time, didn't you! Well I am! I am posting on time! Woohoo!!!! Sorry. Anyway, here is chapter four, with some nice fighting and a little bit of whomping.:) I won't say anything else about it right now, you'll have to read it for yourselves. I hope you all enjoy!**

0-0-0-0

The sky was gray, with the threat of an early autumn storm in the air. Aragorn frowned to himself and paused for a moment. He had hoped that leaving so soon after midsummer would have saved him from running into ugly weather, but it seemed that fate had predestined an early cold season. The weather since he had left Lothlorien had been unaccountably chill and gloomy. Ah well. All the more reason for him to hurry his steps back to Imladris.

Silver eyes combed the sky once more before he resumed his trek. His concern did not only stem from his preference of comfortable traveling, but also for the area he was traveling through at the moment.

The Misty Mountains.

He was taking the path; the _only_ path that might have been called anything like _safe._ He knew, however, better than most actually, that the term safe really didn't apply to anything in the Misty Mountains. Safe, in this instance, meant that this path was frequented by travelers, so goblins were less likely to be a bother in broad daylight because there was a chance that someone might come along to help whoever was unfortunate enough to be harassed by the miserable creatures. The ranger felt his mouth tip grimly. Unfortunately for him, in weather like this, not only were the goblins less likely to feel the effects of the sun they hated so much, but they knew that there would not be many other travelers along the trail.

Long legs ate up the distance, but not fast enough. Before too long, he would have to find somewhere to camp for the night, or he would have to press on through the dark. Aragorn pushed dark strands of hair out of his silver eyes and frowned. Truth to tell, he would rather push on through the night than try to find somewhere to sleep _here_. Even as he kept his hand ready at his sword, the bearded man grinned suddenly. A deep chuckle escaped his lips. He remembered all too well the stories brought back by a hobbit, long ago. He had been only ten when Bilbo passed through Imladris on his path back home, but he recalled how the Halfling and the Dwarves had been caught in a cave by the goblins of the Misty Mountains.

The trail became ever steeper and Aragorn was forced to slow his pace. Though he pressed himself hard, the air was almost too cool to break a sweat. The ranger twitched his coat around him a little closer. He had been surprised, upon preparing to leave Lothlorien, to discover that his old coat had not been destroyed, as the twins had so often darkly hinted it would be were it to pass into the lands of civilized beings. Surprised, and pleased. It was silly, he knew, but he was very attached to the decrepit garment. It was old and battered, but he had worn it when he first set out to travel with the rangers. For nights on end in the midst of the Black Land, the tattered leather had been his only blanket. Yes, he was very attached to the coat.

Aragorn stopped once more to catch his breath. He could not explain it, but he had the oddest sensation he was being watched. And not by friendly eyes, either. He had heard nothing, seen nothing, nor even smelled something out of the ordinary…but the feeling persisted.

He had honed his instincts in Mordor. Over time, the dark-haired man had learned to trust them more than his senses.

Silver eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He did not think it would be the goblins. Not unless they had become very bold. The sun, though not clearly visible, was still high in the sky. Even with the loss of the sun, goblins preferred the night. Aragorn casually slipped a hand back as though to steady his pack. Nimble fingers seized a slim dagger and quickly slid it from the pack into his sleeve.

The ranger halted and bent low over his boot, presumable to tug a stone from its depths or some other small task. The dagger completed its transfer, moving from the dark-haired man's sleeve to the inside of his belt. Hidden from prying eyes. It was always nice to have a weapon close to hand that your enemy did not know about.

Aragorn straightened and continued onward. His silver eyes were clear, and his face unwrinkled with any care in the world. If the hand that rode so easily on his sword hilt did tighten somewhat, it was not readily noticeable to an observer.

0-0-0-0

Halith was fuming.

The old man's temper was never what one might call congenial, but now, he was more irritable than his men had perhaps ever seen him before.

The orcs were gone.

Not gone for good; Halith knew that they feared their dark master's temper much more than they feared him, and they would return. He had even given them leave to go, but it had been very grudging, and only because he could see the necessity for their departure.

Simply put, Halith's group had run low on provision. Usually, they made do with a minimal amount of hunting as it necessitated sending valuable manpower down one side or the other of the Misty Mountains. Rather than hunt, they preyed. Travelers that passed through were often relieved of their supplies, and sometimes their lives. It was always the orcs that took on the raiding. Their presence could be excused if the travelers were allowed to live. Orcs and goblins living in the Misty Mountains were nothing new. If the men attacked, then tales would start to spread of a marauding group of rogues and soon they would find themselves hunted out. Halith could not risk this.

One week earlier, a storm had ripped through the mountains, and since then the weather had remained unseasonably cold and gloomy. Most people did not care to travel in such unpleasant conditions. Therefore, there had not been one wanderer on the road since before the storm.

Halith snarled angrily and rose sharply to his feet, pacing at the mouth of the cave. He knew that they needed food, so the orcs had been allowed to go hunting, leaving him the ten men that made up the rest of his group. But…his prey was _coming_. He _knew_ that soon his lengthy wait would come to an end. And he did not relish the idea of having only half his force with him. What if his prey traveled with companions?

One gnarled hand thrust itself into his thick, white hair, rumpling it thoroughly. Halith sighed once, deeply. There was nothing to be done about it now, at any rate. What was done was done. With a heartfelt oath concerning the questionable parentage of the orcs, Halith turned his single eye back to the path he had watched for two years.

For a moment, he could not believe what he was seeing.

Still far away, a lone figure strode up the mountain trail, long legs eating up the distance with ease. Even at a distance, Halith could see his hand rested with uncomfortable familiarity upon the hilt of a sword. The former corsair could not be certain that this was the man he sought, not yet. He would have to wait until the traveler moved closer to be certain. However, whoever this man turned out to be, they must be prepared.

Halith tapped his finger three times against a rock at the mouth of the cave.

The men within understood the signal. They had been waiting two years to hear it.

With practiced ease and silence, they slid from the cave into their positions, taking care that they should not be seen by the dark-haired man coming up to them. Halith knew that the cave's opening was hid from the path until the trail wound almost directly in front of it. The man could not see him…yet.

Swiftly, the white-haired man drew a cloak about his shoulders and seated himself in front of the cave, pulling the hood low over his scarred face. By the time the traveler saw him, he would already have walked into a trap.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn felt his steps moving more and more slowly. Ever stronger, he could not fight the feeling he was being observed. The sword hanging from his side slid from its sheath smoothly, and he continued forward with the naked blade held at the ready.

The ranger rounded a slight corner, his hair standing up on the back of his neck. He knew he must be near the summit of the mountain, for the trail had leveled somewhat. To his surprise, he noticed a cave cutting into the face of the mountain a short distance ahead. A very short distance. Barely twenty yards separated him from the mouth of the cavern. Even more surprising, seated directly in front of the cave was a cloaked and hooded figure.

Someone who could have been watching him for a very long time.

The same instant he was struck with the realization that he had discovered his watcher, his body was already in motion, spinning to meet the blade that had been aimed at the back of his neck.

The harsh clang of metal on metal seemed to be a signal for chaos to erupt. Aragorn had barely time to lash out with his foot, kicking his attacker back before he heard the rapid approach of another. The ranger spun, instinctively knowing that whoever was charging at him was already too close for Aragorn to bring his blade into play. Halfway through his spin he flipped the hilt of his sword in his hand, using it very effectively to crash into the jaw of the man attacking him. A very surprised look spread over the man's face for a fraction of a second before he crumpled to the ground. Aragorn barely spared him a glance. He had other things to worry about at the moment.

Namely, the rather large number of men that were swiftly closing in around him. Ten (counting the one who's jaw had just been broken). The ranger's mouth tightened grimly. Two could easily be defeated. Four or five at once was much more of a problem. Nine was going to be impossible.

He knew this in his head, but refused to accept it in his heart. This could not be! He was on his way home for the first time in years…

Silver eyes glittered dangerously in the chilly air. He did not wait for them to come to him. Aragorn sprang forward, sword flashing. Two men were engaged and killed before the rest had time to react. Aragorn turned to face a third, but they were gathering in now, and he was blocking blows from all sides. He lunged, trying to stab another, but the man fell back before the blow struck true. Taking advantage of his outstretched arm, another ducked under Aragorn's defenses and landed a vicious punch to the solar plexus.

Aragorn felt his knees buckle involuntarily. His breath flew from his lungs with a _woosh_. Dimly, he felt a strong hand seize his wrist, twisting his sword out of his hand. Other hands were grasping at his arms, his shoulders…the ranger fought, but soon found himself held tightly. An arm encircled his throat, leaving him barely enough room to breathe. Slowly, he became aware that the person he had seen seated in front of the cave was walking towards him.

Aragorn glared, helpless, but far from cowed. He was angry. Fear was pushed far away into a distant corner of his mind. How dare these men hinder him! Dark eyebrows drew together in a ferocious frown as he surveyed the approaching figure intensely.

These were not highwaymen, he suddenly realized. If they were, they would have killed him. A live man would only complicate matters in their affairs.

The hooded man halted a few feet before the ranger. Aragorn could see nothing of his face, but felt somehow, that this was someone he had met before. The feeling brought him absolutely no comfort, as in this situation, this someone was most likely to be an enemy.

"Why do you hide your face?" he growled, barely able to speak past the burly bicep that was crushing his larynx. "Are you so ugly?" The bicep tightened and Aragorn almost gagged. "Or," he choked out "have you been badly scarred?"

A deep chuckle sounded from under the hood, and the ranger froze, his silver eyes widening.

"Aye," said a harsh voice. One gnarled hand reached up and caught hold of the edge of the hood. Aragorn had just enough time to see how the hand was wrinkled with age before the cloth was ripped back, and his tormentor's face was revealed.

A cruel smile split the weather beaten face. Halith tapped a finger against the scar that ran from his forehead, through his eye and across his cheek. "But we know who's fault that is, don't we…Strider?"

0-0-0-0

A cold breeze stirred Elrohir's raven colored braids. The younger twin frowned slightly. Perhaps they were in for another storm? Unpleasant weather had plagued them ever since they had set out from Rivendell.

A slight touch on his sleeve brought the elf's attention back to his companion. Elrohir saw that his brother was frowning as well…but Elladan did not seem to be interested in the weather.

Elladan's gray eyes were focused on a point amongst the undergrowth, and his dark brows were drawn together fiercely.

"_Man na den, gwanor_?" Elrohir asked softly, his voice barely loud enough for Elladan's elven hearing.

"_Yrch_." The answer was swift, harsh, and left the younger twin under no illusions as to how his brother felt about encountering the unpleasant creatures. Elrohir froze, his own ire rising slowly. There were orcs nearby.

Orcs.

A small, unpleasant smile formed on the younger twin's fair face. "_Tolo_." He clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "_Met govanath i yrch._"

Elladan cast a sideways glance at his twin, and allowed his own slightly feral smile to spread across his face. "_Den ni anann o vedui met farant yrch._"

Elrohir could see them now. They were a long ways off, and slowly advancing. Obviously, they had not caught sight of the two elf lords as of yet. If he listened closely, he could hear their brutish voices. Already, his fingers were reaching for his bow.

To his surprise, Elladan stopped him, placing a restraining hand on his brother's arm. The elder elf shook his head slightly in answer to his twin's unspoken question. "Not yet," his voice was almost inaudible. "They are too far away. If we fire now, they may flee. I do not know if there is a larger group of them somewhere nearby. It is better to wait for them to come closer."

Elrohir nodded and let his hands fall to his sides. It would not be that much longer to wait, he knew. Once the orcs caught sight of the two elves they would not hesitate to attack. Besides, this gave him a little more time to think. Now that he stopped to consider things for a moment, the whole situation was…odd.

Ever since the battle of the Five Armies, the goblins of the Misty Mountains had been quite subdues. They had given no trouble for years. At least, they had not strayed this far down from the mountains towards the valley of Imladris. Yet here they were. Not even the goblins of the Mountain, but the orcs. Out in daylight. Granted, the day was overcast and they could not be feeling the ill effects of the sunlight very strongly, but why were they out at all? What had taken them from their holes?

Elrohir could see from Elladan's fierce expression that the elder twin did not care for the situation either.

Now the creatures were barely twenty yards away. Elrohir glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Elladan caught the look and nodded. He would not let the monsters pass.

The elder twin cleared his throat loudly. Elrohir could have laughed at the orcs' reaction. They had no idea they were so close to elves, and the realization was a shock to them. Several cursed loudly in their black tongue and Elrohir felt his hackles rise at the sound of their ugly language.

"You." Elladan pointed a slender finger at the orc who looked to be the leader. "What are you doing here, scum? You belong in the holes of the mountain with the rest of your evil kin. Have you so quickly forgotten what happens to bad little orcs who stray from their hidey holes?" The elf's tone was bitingly sharp, his words mocking.

The head orc's yellow eyes narrowed. "We go where we want, elf," with a jerk of his head, he motioned to his group. Immediately, the orcs began to spread out. "Weaklings like you will not stop _us_."

Elrohir swiftly counted the orcs that were circling himself and his brother. Ten. The unpleasant smile that had curled his lips blossomed. Stupid orcs.

"You come too far into land that is not your own." Elladan's voice was no longer mocking, but all the more sharp. A fierce light had kindled in his gray eyes and there was something terrible in his fair face as he gazed upon the orcs. "We do not welcome orcs into the valley."

The leader of the orcs swallowed hard, but sneered nonetheless. "This is what we think of your valley," he snapped his taloned fingers nastily. "And I don't know as you're smart enough to count but there's ten of us and only two of you! Get 'em boys!"

The orcs charged.

At least, they tried to charge. In truth, Elladan and Elrohir leapt forwards before the orc finished his order.

Elrohir drew his sword as he surged forwards, the blade singing as it whipped from its sheath. A powerful thrust disposed of the orc in front of him before the creature had time to react. The dark-haired elf wrenched his weapon from his foe's carcass and whirled to meet the attack of another. The orc's twisted blade crashed against the elf's shining one, jarring Elrohir's arms. He was surprised. The creature was stronger than most of the orcs of the Misty Mountains. Even as he pondered this, his body reacted almost faster than sight. While his right hand held his sword, his left whipped a dagger from his belt and plunged forward, aiming for the orc's throat. Unfortunately, the monster saw the blade coming and bent backwards, allowing the dagger to whistle over him in the space where his head had just been.

Elrohir was surprised again. These were not normal orcs. He flipped the dagger swiftly in his hand, clubbing the orc with the hilt. The orc staggered and fell to the ground. Elrohir drove downwards with his sword, swiftly ending the creature's life. Even as he pulled his blade free of his opponent's corpse, his gray eyes were caught by the insignia emblazoned upon the orc's helm. Before he could take a closer look, a kick to the back of his knees sent him to the earth.

The elf rolled instinctively as he hit the ground, and the blade that had been aimed for his back plunged harmlessly into the dirt. Elrohir kicked upwards, catching his attacker in the belly. With fluid grace, Elrond's son surged to his feet, thrusting thoughts of troubling insignias to the back of is mind. Now was not the moment to dwell on such things.

0-0-0-0

Elladan drew two long daggers as he charged. They had been a gift from Legolas the last time the Mirkwood prince had visited Imladris. By the time he had left, the golden-haired elf had succeeded in training Elladan to handle the twin blades almost as well as himself.

That had been a decade ago, and Elladan had many opportunities since then to practice. The first orc that had the misfortune to meet him managed to block one blade, but the other stabbed upwards through his ribs, killing him instantly.

Even as he pulled his weapons free, Elladan kicked sideways into the gut of another creature trying to leap at him. The orc doubled up, and Elladan punched him with the hilt of a dagger. The dark-haired elf heard the orc's nose crack and break. An extra shove drove cartilage up into the creature's brain. His yellow eyes rolled back in his skull and he fell to the earth. Dead.

Elladan had just enough time to whirl, catching a jagged edged blade in-between the cross of his two. Yellow eyes glared into icy gray. The orc's leader pushed suddenly, throwing the elf back a step and off balance. Elladan was greatly surprised. This orc was strong. The young elf lord was even more surprised when the orc swiftly followed up his momentary advantage, pressing in with two swipes of his sword. The first Elladan deflected with one of his blades, trying to regain his balance. The backswing however came too fast for the elder twin to guard against. A thin line of fiery pain slashed across his midsection. The wound was not deep, Elladan knew that immediately. The elf leapt back a step and brought his blades up as the orc leader charged forward. The jagged blade caught on the twin ones once more as both beings strove against one another.

The orc leader snarled at his opponent through the deadly crisscross of steel. "Poor little elf," he mocked, foul breath making Elladan wrinkle his nose. "Did I sting you little elf? Don't worry…I won't make it hurt for too much longer. No time for fun today." With his last words, the orc spat into the elf lord's fair face.

Dark eyebrows drew together as the gray eyes suddenly flamed. The orc leader had one moment to wonder if what he had just done was a very wise thing, before the elf's foot kicked him backwards viciously.

Elladan was not enraged by the touch of the creature's spittle. In truth, he hardly noticed it. It was the creature's words that sparked the elf lord's wrath. The brief reminder that these monsters tormented other beings for their one twisted enjoyment. The bitter sting that had never died when Elladan remembered his mother and her cruel treatment at the hands of the orcs…

The dark-haired elf sprang forwards, eyes flashing. He had fought well before, but now his blades moved too fast for the eye to see. The orc leader tried to defend himself, but it was a lost cause. Within seconds, Elladan's blades sank home in the monster's flesh.

A dull thud as the orc collapsed was the last sound he ever made.

Elladan stood over the corpse for several moments, shaking violently. A storm of dark emotions boiled within his blood, but he forced it away. He had walked willingly into his own valley of darkness years ago, but had come out. He would not dwell there again.

The gray eyes flickered down to the orc at his feet.

Though, he admitted to himself, smiling somewhat ruefully, he might visit unwittingly.

A few more seconds passed before the elf realized that he had only slain three of the ten orcs, yet there were no more sounds of battle. He turned, confused, to see Elrohir leaning against a tree, cleaning his sword meticulously. A swift count of the dead revealed that Elrohir had killed the other seven while Elladan was engaged in combat with the leader. There was a deep frown etched on the younger twin's face, and Elladan had a good idea of what was bothering his brother.

"Odd, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

"Very." Elrohir straightened and re-sheathed his sword. "It's been a long time since goblins have come down onto this side of the mountains…"

"And in full daylight," Elladan continued where Elrohir left off. The elder twin began to wipe the black orc blood from his blades absently. "Did they seem like mountain goblins to you?"

Elrohir shook his head, his dark braids swishing gently. His eyebrows drew together suddenly. "That reminds me…" the elf lord bent over one of the dead orcs and lifted the helmet the monster had been wearing. "Have you ever seen this device before?" Elrohir held out the piece of armor gingerly, as though he did not wish to sully his hands with it.

Elladan stepped forward, sheathing his blades as he went. He took the helmet from his brother and gazed at the insignia that had caught the younger twin's attention. "No." he finally said. "I think that we should take it to Lothlorien with us. Grandmother may know more of it." The helmet disappeared into a pack.

Elladan started to move forwards. He had no wish to stay in this place, surrounded by dead orcs, but Elrohir caught his shoulder.

"You're bleeding, Dan."

The elder twin could hear the worry in his brother's voice. "It is barely a scratch, Ro." It was true. The wound had already stopped bleeding. Of course, there was the possibility that the blade had been poisoned… "I'll make you a bargain," he conceded, knowing that they would not make any progress if Elrohir insisted upon hovering like a mother hen. "Let us get at least one mile away from this place," he cast a glance at the dead orcs lying about, "and I will allow you to treat the wound. Does that sound fair enough?" He could tell with one look that Elrohir wanted to treat his brother's hurt _now_. "We shall say that it is repayment for killing more than your fair share of the orcs."

Elrohir looked highly affronted. "You were busy!"

"You killed seven, Ro, and I only had three. You owe me."

"What was I supposed to do? Carefully count out five and if you hadn't killed your share by the time I'd killed mine just sit down and refuse to fight?"

Elladan pretended to consider it carefully for a minute. He yelped as Elrohir smacked him lightly upside the head.

"Fine." The younger twin strode forward, then cast a stern glance back at his brother. "_One_ mile. No more."

"I promise." Elladan said as sincerely as he could. Elrohir merely snorted and kept walking.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn felt his jaw drop down until he was sure that it had hit his chest hard enough to break ribs. "You….you…"

Halith merely smiled in a slightly twisted manner. Striding forwards, he reached out and caught hold of Aragorn's left wrist. "Don't worry, Strider. This meeting is sure to be for the final time, and it will not last long. All I need from you…" he jerked Aragorn's hand upwards, "…is the…the…" Upon viewing Aragorn's hand, Halith froze. His single dark eye widened. "Where is it?"

If the ranger had not been fighting off a severe shock himself, he might have noticed Halith's distress. However, his powers of observation were not up to their usual standard. "You're dead," he moaned. "You died. You can't be here. Not here."

A sharp blow to the side of his head convinced him that Halith was indeed there. The pain brought Aragorn back to reality somewhat. Enough to notice that Halith looked quite mad. The old man's white hair was flying around his scarred face. All the blood seemed to have left the former corsair's features, leaving him almost chalk white. The dark eye that was usually cruel and cunning was wide with fear. Gnarled hands caught hold of Aragorn's shirt and jerked him (and the people holding him) forward until Halith's nose was almost touching the younger man's. "Where is it?" He hissed through clenched teeth. "You had it on the ship. I know you did."

"It?" Aragorn was at a loss. "What…?"

"The RING!!!" Halith released the ranger's tunic and backhanded him so savagely Estel saw stars. "The ring that was on your left hand!" Once more, Halith grabbed Aragorn's hand and jerked it up. "It was here," Halith hissed. "The ring was on this finger."

The finger he was indicating had indeed obviously worn a ring until just recently. Now, however, only a pale band of flesh on a darkly tanned hand was left to show proof of that.

Aragorn knew immediately what Halith was speaking of. Had he not worn that ring since his father had given it to him when he turned twenty? It was then that the truth was made to him of his heritage, its strengths and weaknesses.

Little had he known that when he had given the ring to Arwen, he had saved his own life.

0-0-0-0

Halith tightened his grip around Strider's left hand painfully. "Where is it?" he repeated, his voice harsh as he spat the words into the other man's face. Blood was leaking from the corner of the ranger's mouth, but he still managed to smile. The steel in his silver eyes flashed.

"Lothlorien," he said quietly.

Halith's men shuddered as one. They were servants of darkness, and even the name of the elven dwelling was enough to give them pause. Halith had heard of the Golden Wood as well. Enough to know that any chance of recovering the ring was hopeless unless one of the elves decided to chuck the blasted thing at his head. Blood thundered in his ears. He would have to take Strider back to Mordor. Alive.

The smile on Strider's face deepened. He was grinning. Mocking. "You can try to go and fetch it if you wish," the dark-haired man gasped over the arm that was cutting into his throat. "After all," white teeth flashed against his bearded cheeks, but there was no answering smile in the icy silver eyes. "you still have one eye left."

Before he could stop himself, Halith snapped. He hit his enemy across the face again and again, as hard as he could. He didn't know how long he would have continued on if his own men hadn't seized him, pulling the former corsair away.

As the red mist in front of his eye cleared, Halith saw that Strider sagged against the man that held him, unconscious. Blood oozed from his mouth and nose. Purple bruises were already forming across the side of his face where Halith's gnarled fists had landed.

The aged man shook his men away roughly. One finger jabbed at Strider's limp body. "Bind him." He had not wanted this. Never had he wanted this. This was insane! Halith turned away from his men and paced down the trail a ways.

If he had known that Strider would not have the ring…he would have run! Rather than drag the ranger alive to the Black Land, Halith would prefer to gouge out his remaining eye with a wooden spoon. That man was a curse! Every time Halith had encountered him, disaster had followed. Always, the disaster could have been diverted by a quick blade in the dark-haired man's ribs.

Halith clenched his fists, his spine rigid, whole body trembling with the hatred he felt for the man he had beaten only moments before. He had been looking forward to simply ending the ranger's life. He had rejoiced to know that for once, he would close the silver eyes and know with certainty that they would not open again.

A vile curse spat between the old man's lips. It was followed by quite a few more. For nearly fifteen minutes, Halith's men could do nothing but stare at their leader's back and wait for him to finish his long-winded stream of invective.

Finally, his store of profanity had exhausted itself. Halith squeezed the bridge of his nose, thinking desperately. There was nothing else that could be done. The Mouth had been very clear. If Halith did not have the ring, he had no choice but to bring Strider, alive, to Mordor.

Very well.

Halith turned, striding back to his men. He was not going to take any chances. He had underestimated the ranger once, resulting in the loss of a hundred men and his own eye. Foolishly, he had underestimated the man a second time. The cost had been his pirate ship along with his entire crew, and almost his own life. He would not underestimate Strider again.

"The prisoner is to be kept bound at all times," Halith barked. "No exceptions. As soon as the orcs return, we will set out. In that time, I suggest you construct some sort of stretcher unless one of you wishes to carry him upon your back. No one is to speak with him." The single, dark eye speared every man present. Halith's gaze was cold and cruel. "Anyone that disobeys me can expect to die promptly."

The men nodded. They would expect nothing less.

"He is to be kept gagged, unless he is eating," Halith continued. The old man fell silent for a moment. Were these measures enough? Was there anything else he could do to ensure that his prisoner would not escape and bring disaster into Halith's life once again? The men were already tightening the bonds around the ranger's wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles. Somehow…Halith's mouth flattened into a grim line. It wasn't enough. A single sharp rock and one moment of inattention and Strider would be gone.

"Is there anything else, sir?" one of the men asked, even as he finished knotting the gag around Strider's mouth.

"Yes." Halith's voice was wintry cold. "Break one of his legs."

A moments worth of surprise flickered over the henchman's stolid face before he nodded shortly and rose to fetch a club from the cave.

Halith's single eye followed the man as he seized hold of a stout wooden cudgel and strode back towards Strider's unconscious form.

Even as the stave was raised high into the air, Halith wondered if the measure he had taken were enough. Would he emerge from this encounter with Strider unscathed at last?

A sickening crack echoed in the thin air of the Misty Mountains.

Perhaps this would be the time when his life would be forfeit.

Another crack. Halith shook himself and frowned. It was unlike him to be so fatalistic. He did not believe in fate, only the fate a man made for himself. White, shaggy brows drew together in a fierce expression. He would accomplish the task that had been set out before him. Deliver either the ring or the man to Mordor.

This time, he would not be defeated by Strider.

Strider would go to Mordor if Halith had to drag him there himself. A small, cold smile twisted the old man's lips. This time, Strider would die.

_0-0-0-0_

_Tolo. Met govanath i yrch.—Come. We will meet the orcs._

_Den ni anann o vedui met farant yrch—It has been long since we last hunted orcs._

_Man na den,gwanor?—What is it, brother?_

_0-0-0-0_

**Hey, so there's the next chapter. Did it end on enough of a cliffie for everyone, or should the next chapter be more evil? :) Next post will be up by next Friday! See you all then, and always…PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!**


	5. Passing in the Night

**Finally! Okay, I have been trying since Saturday to get this thing posted, and this is the first time that I've been able to upload the chapter. Horrid computers...**

**Just so everyone knows…this chapter WAS written Friday. I have nothing but my own lazy butt to blame for not posting on time. Well, I could blame my sister and my niece I guess…My wonderful beta sister came to do her job as beta reader, and she brought with her the world's cutest little munchkin. What started out as an afternoon of business devolved into a Mario Party 3 fest that didn't end until fairly late at night. I admit it, I was lazy and didn't stay up to post even though everything was ready.:( I'm sorry! (runs away from unhappy reviewers) **

**Many thanks to those who reviewed anonymously. I wish I could send you a personal reply, but I am so grateful that you took the time to review.:) Thank you thank you thank you!! **

**Before I continue on with the story, there is one thing that I would like to address. I mentioned it in the first chapter in my author's notes, but this is the final story to a three part **_**series**_**. The first story was To Be a Man, and the second; To Kill a Captain. Either of those stories could be read by themselves (thought To Kill a Captain would obviously make **_**more**_** sense if read after To Be a Man) but this story will make almost no sense if those two haven't been read before. I know that series are annoying, and I really never intended to write one, it just kind of happened that way. Anyhoo, here is the next chapter. I left Aragorn with a little bit of angsty bone breakage last time, so now we get to check on him and see if his situation has improved.:)**

0-0-0-0

Halith glared into the depths of the fire, his single eye staring into the embers as if he would see his future written there if he gazed hard enough. Chin propped on his folded hands, the old man contemplated the situation he now found himself in.

The men avoided him at all cost. They knew his temper to be fierce, and would not disturb him until it became absolutely necessary.

He had waited two years. Two _years_! Halith muttered a foul curse, putting his head between his hands and running his fingers through his thick hair until the white mane stood almost on end.

The eye flicked towards the back of the cave for a moment. There, in the shadows, he could see the ranger's inert form. Harsh lines around Halith's mouth deepened. He hated the younger man so much he could almost taste it; bitter as gall at the back of his throat. What had he done to deserve being coupled with this harbinger of doom?! Halith considered the actions of his life for a moment then snorted. Even a life of cruel deeds did not, in his opinion, deserve _that_ man. He had known how to deal with Strider the very first time he had met him. A blade across the throat or pushed into some other vital area would have solved a lot of problems. Years later, Halith's view had not changed. Strider was simply too dangerous a man to be allowed to live.

But…he had his orders. As soon as the orcs returned, they would depart for the Black Land.

Halith cursed the ill luck that had persuaded Strider to part with the ring before he had fallen into the former corsair's clutches.

The limp form of the ranger stirred slightly, catching Halith's attention. The old man stood, eyebrows drawn together in a fierce scowl. Was he waking? Keeping his gaze trained on his captive, Halith fumed. As if the whole situation were not troublesome enough, they had to wait for the orcs before they set out on their journey. What had happened to the creatures anyway? How long could it possibly take to slaughter a few animals?

Strider moved again, and Halith heard a soft moan leak from behind the cloth strip tied over the younger man's mouth.

With a grimace, Halith strode towards his captive. He had something to say to his longtime enemy.

0-0-0-0

Pain was invading the darkness of unconsciousness, bringing Aragorn back to wakefulness. He lay for a moment, trying to remember where he was and what on Arda he could have been doing. A dull ache filled his head, accompanied by a low ringing. His lip stung too, as if it had been split. Aragorn tried to probe his lip with his tongue, only to find his mouth filled with a rough, vile-tasting cloth.

This could not possibly bode well for him.

Silver eyes cracked open slightly. He was lying on his side on rough stone, his face pressed uncomfortably into the ground. In front of his eyes lay a pair of hands, bound tightly together. Several moments passed before he recognized the hands as his own. Not only were they bound at the wrist, he realized as he tried to move them, but at the elbows too. Very tightly at that. So tightly, they were compressing his chest and making it hard for him to take a deep breath.

Focusing beyond his hands, Aragorn could see a fire several yards away. The light flickered and danced in his vision, making him feel slightly ill. The ranger screwed his eyes shut, trying to shake away the lingering dizziness. Even in his impaired state, he had seen several figures standing around the fire.

Remembrance started to leak back into his aching head. He had been attacked traveling through the Misty Mountains…He had fought, but there had been too many. He remembered the crushing circle of someone's arm about his throat…

What then?

As if afraid of what had happened next, his memory shied away from the events, leaving the ranger with a haze of pain.

Not important at the moment, he reasoned. Clearly, he had been captured, knocked unconscious and bound. Had they taken all his weapons? Slitting his eyes open once more, Aragorn cast his gaze about the cavern swiftly. Leaning against one wall was his sword, and next to it lay his bow along with the dagger he usually carried in his boot. His pack was flung next to the weapons, and looked as though it had been ravaged fairly recently.

Had they found the dagger he had thrust behind his belt? Aragorn shifted, trying to move his arms in a way that would allow him to draw the weapon. The ranger swiftly discovered that this was nearly impossible with his elbows bound together.

A figure at the fire stood, suddenly. Aragorn froze. Had the man stood because he had noticed the ranger's movements? If so, the dark-haired man might be headed for another nap.

A few moments passed. Perhaps it had just been coincidence. Aragorn decided to forget the dagger for the moment. He wondered if his legs were bound as well as his arms. Elrond's youngest son shifted them slightly.

The deep ache that had been present sprang to fiery agony with the blink of an eye. Caught off guard, Aragorn was suddenly very glad he was gagged. His scream of pain was muffled, coming out only as a low moan.

Every sindarin, quenyan, dwarven, and Gondorian curse he had ever learned tried to force itself from his throat simultaneously. Aragorn took a deep breath through his nose, trying to regain control of the pain that was licking its way up the entire length of his leg. He had broken bones before. He knew the pain of the grinding edges when he felt it.

A sick rage swept over him. They had broken his leg.

Footsteps alerted the ranger to another's presence. His silver eyes turned up, gazing through strands of dark hair that had fallen across his face.

A one-eyed visage greeted him with a cold smile.

Ah yes. The rest of Aragorn's memory returned with a vengeance. His shock upon seeing Halith alive hit him with renewed force. If he could have, the silver-eyed man would have ground his teeth together in frustration. Bitter anger surged through his blood, fueled by the pain he was enduring. When he recalled all this man had put him, and those dear to him through…

The icy glare he directed at Halith probably would have frozen a normal man to the cavern floor.

Halith, unfortunately, was not a normal man.

"Pay close attention," the former corsair growled, his one eye narrowed with almost as much hatred as Aragorn's two. "I will not speak to you again if I can possibly avoid it. My men have already been instructed against conversing with you. They will not disobey my orders." The older man squatted, bringing his mouth close to Aragorn's ear. "I would kill you if I could. And I don't envy your fate. It would have been easier for you to die by my hand than by the one who wants you." One gnarled hand caught hold of the ranger's dark hair, twisting shoulder length strands tightly around Halith's wrinkled fist.

Aragorn barely even felt the pull against his scalp compared to the stabbing pain in his leg. However, Halith did have his attention. The white-haired man yanked his enemy's head forward until he held Aragorn's face barely an inch away from his own. Weather beaten skin creased into harsh wrinkles as Halith bared his teeth in a fierce grimace. "I can not kill you," he repeated, voice harsh. "But if you give me trouble, I will make sure that you are eagerly anticipating death by the time we reach the Black Land."

With a powerful thrust, Halith flung the ranger away from himself. Aragorn's head hit the cave floor with a thud. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the stars from his vision. By the time he was quite sure that he wasn't going to pass out, Halith had straightened from his crouched position, turned and was walking back toward the fire.

Aragorn did not care. He certainly had no desire to be near his longtime enemy. Besides, he had already learned something of value. Two things, actually.

Whatever his provocation, because Barahir rested in Lothlorien, Halith could not kill him. Also…

He was being taken back to Mordor.

A shudder shook Elrond's son where he lay. He could guess what would happen to him there. Rather than accept such a fate, Aragorn would sooner slit his own throat. Dark eyebrows drew together in a scowl. Halith had been very thorough. Even if his hidden dagger still rested behind his belt, how was he to escape with a broken leg?

He would find a way.

He had no other choice.

0-0-0-0

For the first time in the week since they had left Rivendell, the stars gleamed in a clear sky. Elladan would have liked to spare more time to observe them, but he knew better than to let himself be distracted at the moment. He and Elrohir had long passed from the tree line. Soon, he knew, they would be over the summit of the Misty Mountains.

The twins picked their way up the rocky trail, weapons unsheathed and ready in their hands. After meeting with the orcs, the elves were traveling more cautiously. They knew the dangers of staying overnight amongst the caverns of the Misty Mountains and had decided against such actions. As _eldar_ they did not need rest as the _edain_, and so they pressed on through the night. Gray eyes saw through the dark with ease. Their feet were light and picked out the trail with a swiftness that would have made their younger brother sick.

Though his mind was continuously stewing over their encounter with the orcs, Elladan spared a moment to allow a smile to flicker across his delicate features. If Estel were present, he would willingly agree to keep on through the night. Then, he would make the twins regret their choice with a long litany of complaints and good-natured taunts. Undoubtedly he would trip somewhere along the way, spraining his ankle or breaking some bone. That too, would of course be all the twins' fault.

The smile on Elladan's face widened. He really did miss his youngest brother. With a sigh, the elder twin shook himself. It was not good to let himself lose focus.

Beneath his feet, the path was beginning to level out. They had reached the summit of the mountain. Both twins knew that within the next fifteen minutes of travel the trail would start to descend. They had traveled this way often enough before.

If memory served him correctly, Elladan recalled that there was also a rather large cavern fairly close to the trail. He cast a sideways glance at his twin, catching Elrohir's eye.

Elrohir nodded, knowing without needing to be told what Elladan had on his mind. Stars gleamed in the twin pairs of grey orbs for a moment, and the brothers shared a dangerous smile; sharp as the blades they held in their hands.

There was always a chance that any cave, cranny, nook, cavern, hole, or underside of a rock could have been taken over by goblins since the twins had last passed this way. Given the fact that they had recently come into contact with a rather nasty crowd, it was better to be safe than sorry. Elladan took the lead, Elrohir close behind.

The elder twin cocked his head, listening. Very faintly, he could hear the snap and crackle of a fire.

Elrohir shook his head in answer to his brother's questioning glance over the shoulder. He could hear the fire too…but no voices. Goblins were fond of fire, but they were too clever to light a blaze within a cave that could be seen from the trail. Unless they had grown very, _very_ bold.

The trail twisted snakily, moving downwards through various large outcroppings of rock. Elladan knew that it would be impossible to see the cavern until they were almost on top of it. That thought did not make him very happy. If it _were_ goblins ahead, he should like to see them before they could see him.

Slowly, Elrond's firstborn edged around the last rock formation, motioning Elrohir to stay back.

Gray eyes widened. There, lying in front of the cave were two dead men. The men lay side by side, their faces covered. Obviously, not the work of goblins. Elladan relaxed ever so slightly.

A fire had been lit at the mouth of the cave and the elf counted at least nine men seated at or nearby it. They were not speaking at all. Something about their silence struck a chord of unease deep within the young elf lord. Who were these men? What were they doing here? What had happened to the poor souls that lay in front of the cave?

One thing was for certain. He would discover nothing if he did not proceed. Motioning for Elrohir to come forward, the elf stepped into the fire's circle of light…

0-0-0-0

Halith was seated at the fire once more. The heat was good on his old bones, though he would admit this to no one.

A shiver raced down the old man's spine, making the hair on the back of his neck stiffen. With a jerk, he turned his face towards the cavern opening. He could see nothing beyond the fire's flickering light. The former corsair listened for a moment, straining his ears. Thankfully, his men were not talkative types. He doubted that they had exchanged more than a score of words between each other in the two years they had been here.

Though he could hear nothing, Halith slowly rose to his feet, senses on the alert. He could not have explained to anyone why he felt as he did…but something was not right.

He was positive. He was absolutely sure.

Something, some_one_, was watching him.

The moment he came to this conclusion, the two dark-haired elves stepped from the night's shadow into the light of the flames.

Their fair faces were stern, gray eyes flashing. Raven colored braids spilled over their shoulders to be lost in the darkness. One elf wore blue and the other maroon, but their faces were so alike that Halith doubted he could have told the one from the other. They held weapons in their slender hands and the old man swallowed hard. Slender and graceful their hands might be, but he remembered very well the strength hidden beneath the beauty.

He had seen these elves before. Long, long before. They had accompanied the young man, Strider when Halith and Strider had first met. Upon traveling with them to the elven home, Rivendell, Halith had recognized the resemblance between the two elves that stood before him and the lord of Imladris. These were his sons.

Before Halith could order his men to draw their weapons, the elf in blue sheathed his blades. Something that might have been called a smile touched his lips, though there was nothing like it in his gray eyes.

"Well met," he said simply.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn's eyes flew open. He was too far away from the mouth of the cave to see what was happening, but he could hear the voices. Could it be? He had longed to hear his brother's voices for so long…

0-0-0-0

Halith's nimble brain was leaping forward from the moment the elf had moved to put away his daggers. The elves, he swiftly realized, did not recognize him. They had only seen him once, and that was years ago. Not surprising that they did not see in him the man that had stood before them over twenty-five years previously.

The villain could be charming when he chose. A welcoming smile curled his lips. Hoping desperately that his men had the sense to keep quiet, the white-haired man bowed slightly. "And to you, masters."

The second elf stepped forward, his sword having already disappeared into its sheath. "I would warn you against staying in such a place," his eyes darted to the two corpses that lay at the mouth of the cave. "My brother and I have already encountered a group of orcs earlier this day. Did you have trouble as well?"

0-0-0-0

He wasn't dreaming. Silver eyes widened. His brothers were outside the cave. He had to do something. Something to make them notice he was here…but what? What could he do? His movements would not be visible at such a distance, with the fire burning brightly in front of their eyes. Could he make them hear him?

0-0-0-0

Halith seized the out that was given him. "Aye. We were attacked earlier, and lost two of our companions. However, we fought off the goblins, and I do not think that we will have any more problems with them." The old man swallowed hard, phrasing his next question with care. "You say that you encountered orcs earlier today?"

"Aye." The elf in blue smiled, and it was possibly the most chilling thing Halith had ever seen. "Do not worry, _they_ will be no trouble to you."

"How fortunate." Halith forced himself to smile broadly, inwardly cursing the ill luck that should have crossed his orcs with the elves. He had seen the dark-haired elf lords battle before. The orcs never had a chance.

0-0-0-0

Any sound he made was stifled by the thick cloth bound across his lips. In frustration, Aragorn lifted his legs and dropped them back to the cave floor with a thud.

Agony ripped up his broken limb through his gut and clawed its way into his throat…

0-0-0-0

A thud followed by a muffled moan from the back of the cave almost made Halith's heart stop.

The elves peered around the elderly man. "Do you have wounded?" the elf wearing maroon asked, his dark eyebrows drawn together in concern. "I have some skill as a healer…"

Thankfully, Strider was too far back to be seen, even by elven eyes. "That will not be necessary," Halith said quickly, but as gratefully as he could. "One of our number twisted his ankle during the battle. Nothing serious, but he tosses and turns in his sleep and that cannot be very comfortable for him. I thank you for your offer, but he will be fine."

The elves exchanged glances, obviously puzzled.

Halith took a deep breath. He had to take a gamble. The old man could feel sweat break out across his forehead, and hoped desperately that the elves would not notice. "Would you care to come and sit with us?" he asked, waving a hand towards the fire. "We do not have much in the way of provision, but what we have you are more than welcome to." He knew without looking that his men were tense, and probably doubting his sanity at the moment. None of them knew the danger as _he_ did. If these elves saw Strider…

"Thank you," the first elf shook his head, the dark braids swaying gently. "But I'm afraid that we must press on." The gray eyes were serious as they met Halith's dark one. "I would urge you to reconsider your desire to camp here. The Misty Mountains are not safe, and any cavern could be used by the goblins."

"Thank you for your concern," Halith said, hoping that he sounded sincere. "As soon as our companion is able, we will be on our way."

The former corsair saw a moment's worth of frustration seep across the elf's fair features, but he did not press the human anymore. With a slight bow, he strode away, closely followed by his brother.

0-0-0-0

He knew the instant they were gone. Like a snuffed candle, his light of hope went dark within his chest. The ranger pressed the side of his face against the hard rock floor, suppressing the urge to bang his head repeatedly upon the unyielding surface. He was alone again. But…his brothers were near. What were they doing crossing through the Misty Mountains at this time of year? Normally, they would be resting in Rivendell after over a season's worth of travel. Always they patrolled the valley of Imladris, returning home shortly before autumn.

Realization hit him like a thunderbolt. They were coming to fetch him! The twins were traveling to Lothlorien, where they expected him to be!

0-0-0-0

Halith waited.

Nearly an hour later, when he was finally sure that the two elves were no longer within hearing range, the corsair collapsed, a gnarled hand pressed to his fluttering heart. He could hear the collective sigh of relief that his men released, but none of them could possibly understand how close they had come to death in those few moments of conversation. Remembering the blue elf's cold smile when he spoke of the orcs made Halith's blood freeze in his veins.

The old man pushed white hair out of his face with a trembling hand. He had not been certain the two elves would refuse his offer of hospitality, but something about the way they had warned him not to remain in the Misty Mountains made him fairly certain they would.

Several deep breaths helped to calm the villain.

So. Within a few days he had gone from a group of twenty beings at his command, to eight. A scowl deepened the lines on Halith's face. He had wondered what was taking the orcs so long, now it seemed he had his answer.

It all came of dealing with Strider. Halith dragged a hand over his scarred face, wearily. The single eye glared at his men. "We leave as soon as it is light," he said coldly. "No reason to wait for the orcs anymore." With careful deliberation, Halith rose to his feet. Though he showed no emotion on his weather-beaten face, his temper was frayed dangerously thin. He did not like to be frightened. It always put him in a very bad mood. Had Strider tried to alert the elves to his presence, or had he really moved in his sleep?

A few strides brought him to the back of the cave. Strider seemed to be deep in slumber, his eyes lightly closed and his breathing steady.

0-0-0-0

Elrohir glanced over his shoulder for the twelfth time. He could not even see the cave any longer. What was it that was bothering him? The younger twin frowned slightly. Something just hadn't been…_right…_ about those humans. What was it? What had been amiss?

Shaking his dark head firmly, the elf set his gray eyes forward. Though his feet were light and his balance good, even one of the _eldar_ could find himself with a twisted ankle if he did not pay attention to the path he was walking.

Despite his best intentions, the younger twin found his footsteps slowing. Without even realizing what he was doing, Elrohir stopped in the middle of the path, half turned to look back the way they had come.

"Ro?"

Elrohir jerked his head around. Elladan was standing some ways down the trail, looking back at his brother, a confused expression flickering across his fair face. Most likely he was wondering what was holding his twin up. Elrohir shook his head in disgust at himself. Stupid.

"I'm coming," he assured Elladan, swiftly making up the distance with long strides. He pushed his unease to the back of his mind, determined not to think of it again.

0-0-0-0

Elladan cast a glance over his shoulder. He stopped, surprised to see Elrohir standing a fair distance away. The younger twin had stopped in the middle of the path, half turned as if he was thinking of heading back the way they had come.

Elladan was surprised, because the urge to turn back had been tugging at his consciousness since they had left the humans behind. Was Elrohir experiencing the same feeling? "Ro?" Elladan knew that his brother was slightly more sensitive to some things than he. If his twin were also thinking of returning…

"I'm coming," Elrohir quickly strode down the path until he drew even with his brother.

"Something wrong?" Elladan probed gently.

"No," Elrohir shook his head. "Nothing wrong."

Twin pairs of gray eyes met, and a mutual understanding flowed between them. They knew something was…not right. Unfortunately, neither of them knew exactly what it was.

Troubled in mind, the sons of Elrond continued on into the night.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn could feel the vibration of Halith's steps as the older man strode back to the front of the cave. Silver eyes slitted open, gleaming in the darkness.

The grains of an idea were beginning to form in his mind…

0-0-0-0

**That's all for now, folks! Sorry again about the delay, and I hope that you all will forgive me and still review.:) /kneels and begs imploringly/**


	6. Escape From the Frying Pan

**Hey! Here I am, posting within one week of my last post. Oh I am so proud. /smiles broadly/ anyhoo, thanks to those of you who reviewed anonymously. I wish I could send you a personal reply, but I'm very thankful that you took the time to review.:)**

**A lot of people wondered how on earth Elladan and Elrohir could just walk by their brother. The answer is, even though elves have heightened senses and some have foresight, they are not omniscient. The twins expect Aragorn to be in Lothlorien, not on his way to Rivendell already. Besides, this way it sets them up for some lovely emotional angst later when they realize what has happened.:) I like to mess with their little hearts. :)**

**Now that I have established my reputation as an evil authoress, please enjoy the next chapter./extra sweet smile/**

**0-0-0-0**

Aragorn leaned against the trunk of a tree, concentrating on the feel of rough bark through the thin material of his shirt. If he focused hard enough, to the point where he could almost feel tiny wood eating insects moving in the tree, he could almost forget the grating pain of bone against bone.

Almost.

It had been two days since his brothers had passed them on the trail. Two days of almost unending agony for the young ranger. The trek down the mountain had been very long, and very painful. Halith's men had constructed a rough stretcher to carry him in, but they were not gentle in their handling, and the trail was anything but smooth. More than once Aragorn had been forced to thank all the Valar for the dirty gag stuffed between his lips. It was the only thing that kept him from biting off his own tongue in an effort to remain silent.

Two days, and they had barely left the Misty Mountains. The ground was still fairly steep, though now they had crossed into the trees. Aragorn knew that their speed was mostly because of him. Even giving no consideration to the condition of the ranger's leg, the fact that they were forced to carry him slowed them down considerably.

They had even made camp early this night, to allow a few of the men to go hunting. After the hunting party returned, the evening ritual followed with absolutely no deviation. The food was cooked, the men ate, Aragorn was fed (his gag removed, and one of the men held food to his lips. Only on the first night of his captivity had one of the men attempted to cut away the bindings so that Aragorn might feed himself. Halith's following outburst of profanity had left absolutely no shadow of a doubt that such an occurrence should never, and _would_ never happen again unless said man would like to be brought before the Dark Lord to face judgment, but only _after_ Halith had removed his eyes with a very dull object.) and then all except two lookouts would drift to sleep. One of the men who remained awake was intent upon everything, twitching at the slightest sound. The other kept his gaze fixed upon the ranger and nothing else. Every two hours, the men were relieved. Even Halith took his turn at the watch.

Aragorn found it extremely wearing to be continuously watched.

The ranger shifted slightly, trying to settle his shoulders against the tree trunk more comfortably without even the slightest movement of his leg. He drew a deep breath through his nose as he was unsuccessful. Pain lanced upwards through his limb, making him squeeze silver eyes shut.

Aragorn mentally repeated to himself the ten most obscene words in his vocabulary. By the time he had finished, the fierce stabbing had faded once more to a dull ache. Cold sweat trickled down the side of his face. He didn't know how much longer he could take this. The leg needed to be set. He did his best every time the group came to rest, surreptitiously nudging the broken shin bone back into proper alignment. However, he knew that it was not enough. The human's fingers tightened into fists. He needed to be unbound to completely set the bone. If it were not done soon…

He would be crippled.

Perhaps that was what Halith had in mind. After all, a crippled man was a much lesser threat than a whole one.

Silver eyes glittered under dark lashes, surveying his guard. If the man had happened to be looking at his captive's eyes at that particular moment, he would have started running. If Halith had seen that look, he would have forgotten his orders in a moment and acted completely on survival instinct, killing the ranger.

Steel shone bright and hard in Aragorn's eyes. He would not give in. These men would not crush _him_. He had been to the Black Land, and seen horrors that would have slain a lesser man with sheer terror. He had stood at the gates of the city of the Nazgul. For the first time in years, he was traveling to his home.

These men would _not_ stop him.

As if in answer to his unspoken resolve, all hell proceeded to break loose with exceptional violence.

0-0-0-0

"Wargs! Wargs! We're under attack!"

From the first shout of the sentry Halith was leaping from his bedroll. A swift yank drew his sword from its sheath just in time to plunge it down the throat of a charging beast. The warg fell at his feet with a gurgle, blood pouring from severed arteries.

The fire had died down to red embers. In the shadows Halith could see the monstrous wolves, their eyes glistening as they darted to and fro. They were already amidst the camp and his men had their hands full. How many? The old man couldn't tell. Too many blurred shapes in the darkness.

Halith struck hard as another warg darted forward, its fangs snapping at the villain's leg. His sword caught the monster across its shoulder. The warg howled in pain as blood poured from the gash. Halith grimly stabbed forward and the beast fell dead. Jerking his blade free as he went, the former corsair stepped over the corpse and rushed to the fire-pit. A quick shove with his foot sent the extra wood toppling into the embers. Though the weather had been wet, Halith and his men had been extremely fortunate in procuring their firewood that evening. They had discovered some former traveler's stash of timber hidden beneath the outcropping of a rock where it had rested for quite some time. Flames licked at the dry wood hungrily. Within seconds, the fire leapt to life.

Halith could see more clearly now. There was a large pack of wargs, perhaps as many as twenty. He couldn't tell. The fire's light was making many back away snarling. They didn't like fire, did they? A grim smile deepened the shadows of Halith's face. Calling to his men, he snatched a burning brand from the fire and swung it at the warg that had been sneaking closer. Sparks showered the animal's thick fur and it howled angrily.

The men quickly followed his example. The creatures snapped and snarled; unwilling to give up their intended prey, but also unwilling to be burnt alive. Halith snarled back, dark eye blazing. It would take more than a pack of these predators to keep him from his goal.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn's guard had not heard the warning. Probably because at the time the other lookouts call was ringing through the air, his throat had already been torn out by the savage teeth of a warg. Amazingly enough, the creature had not seen the dark-haired man lying bound and helpless a few feet away. The trunk of the tree had blocked him from sight while the monster was making its approach through the woods, and once the guard was slain, its attention was diverted by the rest of Halith's men.

Aragorn knew, however, that it was only a matter of time before one of the wolves noticed him and decided that he would make a tasty meal. Even knowing this, his attention was not largely focused upon the animals that were attacking. All of the dark-haired man's concentration was on the sword.

Once he had been knocked to the ground, the dead guard's sword had fallen from his hand. It lay close by, unsheathed and gleaming with the light of the flames.

Cutting the ropes that bound his elbows without slitting his own wrists was an awkward task, but the ranger was determined. Fortunately, the blade was exceedingly sharp and his bindings quickly sheared away.

Silver eyes darted about the campsite. Good. Halith and his men were still in complete chaos.

Well…mostly good. There remained the exceptionally high chance that if he did not leave soon he would be targeted by one of the wargs.

Ripping the filthy cloth from his mouth, the ranger considered his legs for a long moment. He decided against cutting them loose at the moment. He would have to crawl away, and his broken leg would be more useful bound than not. The limb would probably suffer less damage this way too.

Without further hesitation, Aragorn rolled away from the support of the tree trunk onto his belly. The dark-haired man grunted softly as he hit the ground and jarred his leg. He had to ignore the pain as best he could. Holding the sword in one fist, Aragorn dug his elbows into the soft loam of the forest floor and proceeded to drag himself away as quickly as possible.

Movement was torture. Every root, stone, and slight dip in the terrain seemed to be conspiring together to cause him as much pain as was possible. Thorns and undergrowth scratched his face as he ploughed forward. The ranger stoically ground his teeth together and bowed his head to protect his eyes. He had no idea of direction at the moment, but that was alright. He would gather his bearings later. For now, 'away' had to be good enough.

Finally, he was forced to come to a stop, arms trembling with fatigue. The human's ribs heaved as he breathed deeply. Adrenaline was still pumping through his system. He wanted to simply collapse on his face, but knew that wasn't an option at the moment. If he was to truly escape, he needed to use every single moment possible. Groaning softly, he pulled himself up against a tree. A quick slash freed his legs at last. Before he went any further, his broken limb had to be treated.

The ranger listened intently for a few moments, but he could no longer hear Halith's men, nor could he see any fire through the trees. The woods were cloaked in the murky blackness of deep night. So much the better. Darkness made things easier for him. He could see much more than the average human in the dark, but Halith and his men (if they survived the wargs) would find it hard to see _him_.

Aragorn took a deep breath as blood began to flow normally through his legs once more. If _that_ hurt, he didn't even want to think about what he had to do next. Quickly, the dark-haired man found a stick lying amongst the tree roots. The stick was jammed between his teeth hastily. He didn't want to think about what he was doing. If he thought about it, he wouldn't be able to continue.

Strong hands lined up on either side of the broken shin bone, judging how far the bones would have to be pushed to line up straightly once more. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead, making dark strands of hair stick to the side of his face. Aragorn hastily swiped the sweat out of his silver eyes. The absolute last thing he needed was something to mess up his vision so he would have to do this more than once.

Before he could consider his actions any more, he wrenched the bone back into alignment. Teeth bore down on the wood jammed between his jaws so hard that it groaned, almost breaking.

Several minutes later the ranger was still gasping, his face drawn and gray with pain. Eru! Oh Valar that was something he did not want to experience again anytime soon… His hands clenched and unclenched as he fought the urge to howl his agony into the night skies. Just because he could not hear Halith, did not mean that they could not hear him.

Finally, he spat the stick out of his mouth, drawing a shaking hand across his lips. His composure was slowly returning. Time to take stock of his position.

His position was…very bad. He was essentially a lone, heavily injured man in warg infested woods. A better position, he was forced to admit, than being a man dragged back to face the Dark Lord, but not by much. However, he had some hope. As odd as it might have seemed, things did appear to be going according to plan. Granted, he acknowledged, wargs had _not_ originally been part of the plan, but they _had_ actually helped.

For the first time in days, a grin split Aragorn's face. His intelligence must be very limited if wargs could improve upon his plans. From somewhere deep inside him a small voice (that sounded remarkably like his elder brothers) told him flatly this was no great discovery. The twins had known it for ages.

He wanted to laugh, but feared that the pain was pushing him close to hysteria and clamped down his mirth, contenting himself with a single chuckle.

Now, what exact assets did he have at his immediate disposal?

Not many.

One ranger, badly wounded. A sword, but that would not help a great deal as it was too unwieldy for close quarters, and he wryly acknowledged that his fighting stance was likely to be somewhat handicapped at the moment. However…one hand flew to his belt. Ah! The dagger he had hidden there remained. Halith had not found it. That was something. His coat was gone though. A pang of regret smote the ranger, though he knew it was extremely illogical. A battered coat would be of no real help at the moment, but he was fond of that old coat. It must have been stripped off in order to better search his person for weapons.

No food, nor water, but those could be easily scavenged from the woodlands around him. Even without hunting for meat, Aragorn knew enough of the vegetation to avoid what was poisonous and eat what was wholesome. He did have a slight advantage over his captors in that he was perfectly aware of where they intended to take him, but they had no idea where he would go once he escaped. Logically, they might assume that he would try to head back up the mountain to Rivendell. It was where he had been headed when he was intercepted after all. Most likely, they would not assume that he would travel towards Mordor.

Aragorn had, of course, no intention of returning to Mordor, but heading East might throw Halith off his trail for some time. He didn't need a great deal of time. Just enough.

Once the twins reached Lothlorien and found that he had already departed, and that they had not intercepted him on the path, they would come for him. He just had to make sure that he would not be beyond their reach by the time they realized whom they had passed in the night.

Of course, if he could evade Halith completely, he would.

0-0-0-0

Halith braced his foot against the carcass of a warg and pulled his sword free. Blood dripped down the length of the lethal metal. The corsair drew in a deep breath, feeling adrenaline still coursing through his system. They had won out over the crazed beasts, but it had not been easy. He didn't know exactly how long they had been fighting, but it felt like hours. The corsair was not surprised to see the first golden smudges of dawn's light peeking into the sky. Ash stung his dark eye, and he blinked furiously. With a grunt, the old man flung his branch back into the fire pit and surveyed the battle scene grimly.

Dead wargs littered the campsite. Some still bled into the dirt, and some still smouldered. When blades alone had not been sufficient to drive the animals off, the humans had used the fire not only to frighten and hurt, but to kill. Though his eye was watering from the smoke, Halith could see patches of undergrowth that were smoldering in the woods. He jerked a thumb towards them, irritably. Immediately, two of his men caught up blankets and went to beat out the sparks.

The very last thing he needed was to set the whole forest ablaze with them in it, Halith thought sourly.

The remaining five men began rolling the warg corpses into a heap. Distaste was clear upon all their faces. Halith didn't blame them. If anything, the wargs smelled even worse when they were dead.

Halith push his hair out of his face, leaving behind a black streak of ash. His eye narrowed. No, he had not counted wrong. There were five men taking care of the wargs, two men dealing with the sparks amidst the trees.

There had been eight men last evening when camp was struck.

Three long strides carried the villain to the place where he knew his prisoner had been settled with his guard.

The guard lay on the forest floor, eyes wide open. His throat had been ripped open. The man's sword was missing, and several lengths of cut rope lay trampled into the ground by a combination of battle and fleeing wargs.

Strider, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

The wrinkles on Halith's face seemed to deepen. For several moments, he could only stand, slowly assimilating the information that his single dark eye was trying to relay to his brain. The ranger was gone. Gone.

Gone! By the Dark Lord himself, _WHY_ was he saddled with this man?! A curse! He was a curse!

Now that the realization had really hit home, Halith seemed to lose control of his senses for a few moments. The former corsair screamed profanity that would have made Sauron blush, actually kicked the corpse of the guard that had been assigned to watch Strider (as if it were his fault that he had gotten his throat ripped out) and flung his sword to the ground like a petulant toddler would in a game when it 'didn' wanna play no more.'

Ignoring the wide eyed stares coming from his men, Halith dragged a gnarled hand across his face. Think. He had to think.

He was thinking. He was thinking of all the horrible things he wanted to do to Strider when he finally got his hands back on that…that _ranger_. Knowing that contemplating atrocities would not help him regain his captive, the white-haired man prodded his mind down a different path. Slowly, he drew in a deep breath and placed his fists on his hips. A scowl drew his eyebrows together fiercely. What with all the warg tracks and the disturbance of the battle (burned foliage and such) they would never be able to track Strider.

Halith took several more calming breaths, pushing back the ire that threatened to boil over once more.

True, there was no way to track Strider, but the man could not possibly have gotten very far. They would have to spread out and search. Halith barked orders to his men and they swiftly dispersed, fanning out through the trees. Halith moved to join them…but halted.

Curious.

His men were spreading out in a line, all of them heading back the way they had come. It made sense, he supposed. Strider was intelligent enough to know that they were headed towards Mordor, so naturally, once he escaped he would flee in the opposite direction.

It _did_ make sense.

But something did not sit right with the aged man.

Dawn's early light was sparkling through the trees, waking the birds. Halith stood still, hands planted on his hips. His single eye followed his men as they moved further and further away from him, but he still did not move. His shadow stretched across the forest floor, weirdly elongated in the morning light.

Halith looked over his shoulder, into the East. It did not hurt to be cautious. While his men searched along the most likely path he would indulge his instincts. Even if he were wrong, Strider would still be found by one of his men. If he were right…

The corsair's bones creaked as he bent to retrieve his sword. He was getting too old for this foolishness. A deep sigh burst from his lips as he strode into the woods, wiping warg blood from his blade as he went.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn cocked his head to the side, silver gaze eyeing his left leg critically. He had splinted the break, using two stout branches and strips of cloth that had formerly been the ranger's sleeves. The material was bound as tightly as he could make it without cutting off the blood flow. Another branch that had been lying nearby was just the right height and shape for a crude crutch.

Slowly, the dark-haired man pulled himself up against the tree trunk, careful to keep all of his weight on his right leg. Propping the crutch under his left arm, he closed his eyes, held his breath and allowed the broken leg to make contact with the forest floor.

The breath left his lungs with a woosh. The crutch sank into the ground as Aragorn leaned upon it heavily. Despite his pain, an almost feral smile touch the human's face. It resembled a baring of teeth more than a smile, but a smile it was.

A smile of victory.

The pain was great, but he could take it.

Silver eyes glanced down at the sword lying upon the ground, and Aragorn wondered briefly if he should take it with him. He decided against it. Normally, he preferred to be as heavily armed as possible, but in this case the sword would only impede his progress. Not only would it be an impediment, he could not wield the weapon with his leg in such a condition.

_Besides_ sniffed a very childish part of him as he limped away. _It is not nearly as good a sword as _mine. The ranger was forced to grin at his own petulance. It was true, however, that he was very particular about his swords. If all else failed, he would use what came to hand, but he preferred to carry and wield the sword his brothers had bestowed upon him.

The smile on his bearded face softened as he thought of his brothers. A pang went through him as he remembered what had happened two nights before. He had _heard_ them. Their voices. There had been a time when he was sure that he would die without ever hearing their voices again.

Dark eyebrows drew together in a fierce scowl. Hidden in his dark beard, the muscles around his mouth tightened with resolve. He would not ever, ever again believe that.

Limp, limp, limp.

Pain flared and died and flared again as the human trudged forwards. He would not give up. Silver eyes blazed in a face made pale from that same pain.

His brothers would return for him. He just had to make sure he was there when they did.

0-0-0-0

The last two remaining wargs of the pack huddled down into the undergrowth of the forest, licking their wounds. Neither had escaped without some hurt. A deep cut scored through the thick fur and across the flank of the larger male, while the smaller had fled with his coat aflame. Large patches of angry looking, raw skin marked his back and shoulder. Fortunately for him he had managed to find a creek to plunge into. Many others had not been so fortunate. Both wargs had heard the injured screams and howls of their packmates as the beasts were engulfed in the horrible flame.

The larger male snapped at the smaller, irritable from their lack of prey. The smaller only snarled half-heartedly. He knew that the alpha male was just looking for an excuse to attack and vent his bad mood. Only a stupid creature would give it to him.

Provoked by the lack of response, the larger animal snorted and turned to stalk away. A snap caught his keen ear. Glaring yellow eyes turned back to the small warg, but the small warg was curled into a ball, vainly attempting to lick his shoulder. Other than minute jerks of his head, he was not moving.

There it was again. The sound of some creature stepping none too carefully through the undergrowth.

The burned animal raised his head, alert. He had heard it too. Even injured, the fluid grace of a predator had not abandoned him. His flowed smoothly to his feet, completely silent.

The large warg snorted softly, and the two moved like shadows through the trees. Their keen hearing zeroed in on the uneven footsteps that split the silence of the forest, as loud as cymbals to their ears. Something wounded was moving nearby.

Perhaps they would have some prey after all.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn was so focused on moving forward that he almost walked right off the cliff. The dark-haired man stopped himself just in time. Surprise flickered across his bearded face. There was no clearing, no significant downward slope, the ground just simply fell away. He peered out over the edge, his right hand gripping a tree trunk to steady himself. A low whistle pursed his lips. Good thing he had noticed in time.

Could he climb down? The ranger glanced over the edge again. In perfect health, yes. There were several fairly large ledges and the cliff face was a mixture of soil, roots and stone. With his leg in the condition that it was? Never in this lifetime. Aragorn dug his makeshift crutch into the ground and hopped backward awkwardly. He would go South, following the cliff towards Lothlorien. He had in fact, seen this cliff face many times before, though never from this vantage point. Usually, he followed the trail through the Misty Mountains down through the foothills and then turned South. He could even see the road that he had traveled to reach the Misty Mountains rolling out across the distant ground like a pale ribbon.

He pivoted on his right foot…

Only to meet the yellow gaze of two wargs.

Aragorn froze, wishing for one fleeting instant that he had brought the sword with him. That was, of course, foolish, as he was forced to admit. A sword would do him no good. He could not balance on one foot and a crutch while wielding a blade.

Silver eyes noted the wounds that adorned each animal as they began stalking towards him, separating so as to come from two different directions. These were part of the same pack that had attacked Halith and his men. Were there more of them nearby, or were these the only two that had survived? Though it would undoubtedly spell his doom, Aragorn found himself fervently hoping that it was the former and not the latter. If there were more wargs nearby, there was a great chance that Halith and the rest of his men had been slain.

Slowly, the ranger shifted all his weight to his right leg. He lifted his crude crutch and held it across his body like a quarter staff. He did not like this. If one of those animals leapt at him he would be completely off balance. Aragorn tightened his jaw resolutely. It wasn't as if he had that much of a choice.

With a snarl, the larger warg crouched. His muscles bunched under the thick fur and seconds later propelled him towards the injured human with fangs bared.

0-0-0-0

**Well, that's there you have it. A lovely cliffie.:) Oh it makes me soooo happy to write cliffies. Anyway, the next chapter might, (emphasis on _might_) take longer than a week to post. I have to travel to Chicago on my usual posting day, and I won't be getting home until late Sunday. Now, I am going to _TRY_ to post on Thursday, but if it doesn't get up early, I will probably not be able to post for the next two weeks. /notices reviewers approaching with evil weaponry/ I swear I'm going to try my hardest! Please don't hurt me…hurt little authoress-es don't write any more of their story… I think that a lot of reviews will REALLY inspire me to write and post early.:) hint hint. **

**Anyhoo, hopefully I'll be up in less than a week. Please oh please review! I love reviews dearly!**


	7. Of Elves and Early Mornings

**Don't tell me…I know. I'm late. /throws herself prostrate on the ground at the mercy of her reviewers/ I'm sooooooo sorry! I wanted to get this chapter out early so badly, but travel and opening shifts at work conspired against me to foil my plans. In short, my excuse as always is that my ever annoying real life got in the way of my writing. It has a nasty habit of doing that. Thank you everyone who wished me a good trip to Chicago though, I really appreciate it. Especially since the trip did indeed go very well. I had an audition there to get into a college, and I received the acceptance letter yesterday.:)**

**Anyhoo, I know that everyone would much rather I stopped yammering on and got on with the story. I left Aragorn in a tricky situation last time, and I really haven't done anything with Legolas for a looooong time, so let's see how the chapter goes.:)**

0-0-0-0

The stars were beginning to fade in the sky, Elrohir noted. Soon, the sun would peek her rosy head over the horizon. Already the young elf lord could hear the sound of bird song in the trees.

He loved being outside at this time. The space between darkness and dawning enchanted him. Such moments were so rarely observed it would be a shame to waste them in slumber. This, of course was the reason Elladan and he had risen so early.

The dark-haired elf drew in a deep breath of cool morning air. With a happy sigh, Elrohir grinned broadly. Could there be any better time for travel?

He knew better than to voice such a question aloud, as it would undoubtedly lead to a sharp smack against the back of his head.

Elrohir glanced at his twin out of the corner of his eye.

Though both twins glimmered in the pre-dawn darkness, the eldest brother's expression was anything but radiant. If asked to compare Elrond's first born's facial features to anything in particular, the younger son would have had to pick a thundercloud. Yes. Gray eyes narrowed critically as Elrohir surveyed his brother. Rather than the peaceful gleam of the _eldar,_ Elladan seemed to shine instead with the radiant light of an elf lord about to reveal himself in all of his wrath…

Deciding that this line of observance was not going in a healthy direction, Elrohir sighed. Elladan was not what could even in the loosest of terms be considered a 'morning person.' Troll, warg, orc, spider, or even, (Elrohir swiftly cover his mouth with a slender hand to hide his smirk) a dwarf, but not a _person_.

"What," Elladan's cold voice seemed to lower the temperature in the air surrounding him, "do you find so funny at this unholy hour of the day, _gwanor_?" An icy glare shot from beneath fiercely knitted brows.

_If looks could kill_…Elrohir mused, observing his brother's murderous expression with detached amusement. _Than I wouldn't be here today because Ada would have slain me long before Elladan._ "Nothing is funny," he said lightly, amusement dancing in the gray eyes. "I am simply enjoying the beautiful morning." The mischievous twinkle belied his words.

The elder twin seemed to realize he was being baited. Sniffing haughtily, he continued on, not deigning to glance at the elf that walked beside him. Elrohir, however, was not willing to cease his ribbing. "I do think that moments like this are perhaps some of the most beautiful in existence…"

"So you mentioned," Elladan snapped, jerking his head to the side, in order to glare at his brother more fully. "When you awoke me. Do you remember?"

"Of course," Elrohir chewed at the inside of his cheek, trying very hard to keep from laughing. "It _was_ only a little over half an hour back."

"Do you remember what I said at that time?" One dark eyebrow raised itself questioningly while the other somehow managed to remain fixed in a scowl.

Elrohir averted his gaze, twirling a dark braid around his finger. "Aye. I believe it was something to the affect of there being just as many beautiful moments at times when the Valar chose to smile on Arda, _not_ in the predawn hours which only orc and their ilk found pleasing." The younger twin met his brother's gaze and smiled. "Was that it?"

Elladan's mouth curled slightly. "I believe that was the edited edition."

"Dan," Elrohir's voice took on very condescending tones as he placed an arm about his brother's shoulders. "If I repeated word for word what you said, _Ada_ would scrub my mouth with soap when we returned to Imladris."

"Nevertheless," Elladan said loftily, slapping his brother's hand away, "I arose because you, my beloved twin, have an unnatural and unhealthy predilection for traveling at such unpleasant hours of the morning. I have done my duty as the devoted older brother and given in to your whim. Do not make me hurt you by asking stupid questions." The sweetness of his smile almost took the ill will from his words, but Elrohir could see an evil gleam lingering the depths of those gray eyes that were so like his own.

"I have one more question, Dan, and then I will not trouble you again."

"Aye?" like an eagle soaring to unbelievable heights, Elladan's dark brow made an ascent up his forehead. "And that question would be?"

Elrohir smirked knowingly. "Is there _any_ hour of the morning that _you_ would not consider unpleasant?"

"The hour directly before midday," Elladan answered promptly.

"That hardly counts as morning."

"Ah, but morning it remains."

The twins continued their banter as they traveled. Clouds upon the horizon were beginning to turn red and gold; the stars disappearing slowly. As if she were eager to begin the day, the sun seemed to leap from her own bed, pouring golden colored light across the land. Elrohir would have stopped to gaze at the sunrise, probably not moving for hours, but Elladan seized his elbow and pushed him along the road.

"You already woke me, Ro," he grumbled. "If you wanted to watch the sunrise, you could have risen yourself and allowed me to sleep. However, since you did not take that infinitely preferable course of action, you _will_ continue to move."

Elrohir sighed, but complied. It was only fair, he supposed. He could not, however, keep from turning his head to the East every so often.

Which is why he saw the fire.

Someone had lit a campfire, banked it, and apparently walked away and left it to burn itself to cold ash, for there was no living creature near it. Elrohir frowned. That was slightly dangerous. On it's own, the fire would indeed burn itself out, but what if an animal disturbed it? The firepit was lined with stone, but any beast of decent size could knock embers well out of the protected circle.

Odd that there seemed to be no sign of any traveler.

Elrohir tapped Elladan's shoulder and motioned, indicating that he was going to put out the fire. The elder twin glanced to the side, saw what his twin had noticed, and nodded slightly. He would wait.

As he approached the campfire, Elrohir's curiosity grew. The flames had been built at the base of an enormous oak, one of the few trees growing near the Gladden Fields. Not only was there no one near, (either sleeping while their fire smoldered, or preparing to depart) there was also no sign of anyone _having_ been there.

The person that had built the fire was either spirit, or had a step that was nearly as light as an elf's…

Yes. Elrohir stopped next to the fire and stroked his chin. An elf's.

The dark-haired elf turned his fair face up, looking into the branches of the tree. A slow smile curled his lips. It was not a friendly smile expression. More like the evil smirk of a predator who sees a rabbit with both hind legs broken. Easy prey.

High aloft, straddling a thick branch were two legs. The legs were clad in the green hose woodelves favored, and soft boots covered the feet. Delicate tooling decorated the leather boots. Very exquisite, very…_unique_. The designs were, in fact, the symbols of the royal house of Mirkwood. Only those belonging to that household were permitted to wear them.

Unless Thranduil had taken to wandering, Legolas was perched high in the oak tree, fast asleep.

Elrohir quickly stifled a mischievous giggle. Turning, he beckoned to his twin with his right hand, placing the forefinger of his left against his lips. Elladan's scowl deepened, but he left the road and strode towards his brother. Reaching the younger elf's side he splayed his hands and shrugged his shoulders in a '_what am I doing over here?_' motion.

Gray eyes danced in Elrohir's face. '_look up there,_' he pointed with one finger into the branches of the oak.

Elladan glanced upwards and did a double take, his own eyes widening. Elrond's eldest son stared, jaw slightly agape. In retrospect, it was perhaps not _so_ surprising that they should encounter the heir of Mirkwood. After all, Estel undoubtedly contacted the blond prince as well, and obviously Legolas had concocted the same idea as the twins. Elladan opened his mouth to hail the son of Thranduil, but found it covered by his brother's hand.

Elrohir had a grin spread across his face like a crazed badger. The younger twin held a finger to his lips once more.

Elladan frowned and cocked his head to one side. '_You do not wish to wake him?_'

Dark braids swayed as Elrohir shook his head. His slender shoulders quaked with amusement, but he did not allow a sound to pass his lips.

Elladan crossed his arms over his chest, a dry quirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. One dark eyebrow traveled up his forehead, and for an instant, he looked very like his father. '_You did not have any such compunction when you woke me.'_

Elrond's second child reached up and took hold of a branch, swinging himself effortlessly and soundlessly into the oak. He looked back at his brother once, and the irritating grin that had been plastered across his fair face took on a distinctly sinister tone. '_Yes, but this is one of the many reasons why it is a good idea to rise early.'_ He glanced upwards to where Legolas was slumbering before returning his gaze down towards his brother. '_Sleeping late leaves you vulnerable to attack._'

The elder twin was fighting hard to keep his face from splitting into a smile every bit as evil as Elrohir's. Though no words passed between them, the twins were so familiar with each other's facial and body language that he knew very well what his brother was thinking.

Wide-eyed innocence touched Elrohir's face and he reached one hand down, offering it to Elladan. '_Would you like to help?_'

Elladan hesitated for an instant, his eyes traveling from the hand to his brother's face. '_You realize that this will most likely explode in our faces.'_

Elrohir shrugged. '_It adds excitement to the journey._'

Elladan smiled. He had only been playing with his twin. '_Of course I will help.' _Seizing his brother's slender hand, the elder twin allowed the younger to pull him up. The dark-haired elves exchanged a sly look, then began their stealthy ascent through the tree.

0-0-0-0

Legolas woke with a start. Not a very good way to wake up when one slept in a tree, even if one was an elf, as it caused him to slide sideways off the branch he had been settled on.

Even half asleep, the fair prince's reflexes were excellent. There was a confused moment of spinning greenery, then one slender hand shot out and caught hold of a branch, halting his rapid descent abruptly. Legolas allowed a small yelp to escape him as the jolt sent a shock of pain down through his arm. The prince dangled for a moment, blinking in confusion.

What exactly had just happened?

A delicate pink shade colored his cheeks. He had fallen from his branch. Like an elfling being brought out on his first hunting trip, he had fallen from his branch. Thank the Valar that he was alone! The blond prince shuddered slightly when he thought what might have happened if he had been observed. The warriors of his father's hall would of course maintain their silence if they had seen such a thing.

Legolas winced as he swung his other arm up to seize the branch.

However, despite their 'silence' everyone in Mirkwood would have mysteriously heard of the incident before sundown. With a grunt, the woodelf hoisted himself up onto the branch. Far worse, he was forced to admit, would have been his fate if the twins had witnessed his lapse in grace.

A scowl marred the elven prince's fair face as he rose to his feet. What had woken him so suddenly? There had been something…something that had startled him deep in his slumber…

"Are you alright?"

Legolas jumped so badly that he almost made a second descent from the tree. That voice! His head shot up, blue eyes searching frantically for the source of the question. It could not be…Eru, please anything but _them_…

An elf with dark braids hanging around his face peered down at Legolas from a good ten feet higher in the branches. His gray eyes were twinkling mischievously, although his voice sounded repentant. "I am sorry, Legolas, if I startled you."

At least he knew now the reason for his sudden awakening. Legolas' mouth flattened into a grim line. Much good that would do him when Elrond's son spread word of his fall throughout the ranks of Mirkwood's warriors. Blue eyes narrowed dangerously. Of course, if the annoying elf in question happened to disappear before he could talk…

"Aye, Legolas, it was not our intention to make you fall."

Legolas was not startled to hear the new voice. If one twin were nearby, the other must be as well. A pity too. One son of Elrond disappearing could be explained. Two…well, it was unlikely. Legolas turned his scowl down to face the other half of the most annoying duo on the face of Arda.

Elladan grinned back up at him, completely unabashed by the death glare being sent in his direction. "_Mae govannen, Thranduilion._ We have missed your smiling face."

Legolas' face was anything but smiling. "_No din_," he grumbled. "Do you think that I would be happy to see you in this manner?" the fair elf glowered first at one brother, then the other. He wished they would move closer together. This was making his neck ache. "You appear out of nowhere, deliberately disturb my slumber and knock me from my resting place…"

"That is not fair, _mellon nin_," Elrohir called down. "I only tickled your ear. You are the one who threw yourself off the branch."

"Legolas, your ears are turning red," Elladan calmly observed from his perch.

"Come now," Elrohir swung himself from his leafy seat and landed lightly upon the branch Legolas was occupying. "Tell me you are not happy to see us."

"I am not happy to see you," Legolas promptly replied. His words, however, were belied by the slight softening of his blue eyes. Elladan joined his twin and both stared at the elven prince, gray eyes large and pleading.

A light, bubbling laugh escaped Legolas' lips before he could stop it. "All right!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air. "All right! I am happy to see you!" With lithe, feline grace, the blond elf leapt from his perch, swinging himself to the ground. He landed lightly, knees bent. Looking up into the tree, a wide smile spread itself across his face. "I am most happy to see you, _mellyn nin_." The smile grew ever so slightly evil. "Since I have had the good fortune to encounter you, you two can hold your brother while I hit him."

"I do not think so!" Elrohir sounded scandalized. The younger twin also descended from the tree, landing next to Legolas and leaning an elbow on his friend's shoulder. "If anyone is going to beat Estel, it will be family."

"Aye." Elladan slid easily down the trunk, then leaned his shoulders back against it, arms crossed over his chest. "But you are more than welcome to do the holding, oh esteemed prince of Mirkwood." Dark eyebrows drew together ominously. "At least _Ada_ received letters so we knew he was alive all these years."

"Most thoughtful of him," Elrohir said dryly. "Now," he tapped Legolas' forehead with one slender finger. "How did _you_ know we were coming to fetch Estel?"

"Please." Legolas rolled his eyes and pushed Elrohir's weight from his shoulder. "I received a letter from your brother…" noticing the rapidly darkening expressions of both elf lords he held up his hands in a 'peace' gesture. "Do not be jealous! It is the first word _I _have heard directly from him since the last time I saw his bearded face twenty-five years ago!"

"That was when you told him that if he did not trim his facial hair he would soon resemble a dwarf, was it not?" Elrohir asked innocently.

"Yes," Legolas ground through his teeth. Strange how one tended to forget things over the years. For instance, he had forgotten until this very moment that the twins had the tendency to be the most annoying creatures he had ever encountered. The prince sighed. He supposed he must be getting old. "Anyway," he continued, "as I was saying I received a letter from Estel in which he informed me that he was currently resting in Lothlorien, and would soon be traveling to Imladris. He expressed a desire to see me, and I decided that I would travel to Lothlorien, and then accompany him home." Blue eyes raked over the twins. "I assume that you two are on a mission very similar to mine." A smirk pulled at the prince's mouth. "I however have no desire to babysit the ranger." Mirth was now sparkling across the blond elf's face. "However did you persuade your father to let you come and assist Estel home?"

To his great surprise, the twins did not redden nor show any signs of embarrassment. Instead, their handsome faces wore identical expressions of great smugness.

"You mistake us greatly, Legolas," Elladan said smoothly.

"Aye," Elrohir agreed. "For we did not have any intention of traveling this way…"

_Liar. _Legolas thought to himself in amusement.

"However," Elladan interrupted. "_Ada_ received a letter from our wayward brother as well…"

"And as soon as we had returned from patrol he wished us to travel to Lothlorien," Elrohir continued.

Legolas raised a blond brow skeptically, but Elrohir's statement did ring with truth.

"So you can see," both twins said together , "this was all _Ada's_ idea."

_That_ however, did not. Now he had them. "I _do _see," he nodded his golden head wisely. "I see that your father most likely brought Estel's letter to you, then the two of you expressed a desire to fetch your brother home before he could say anything, and you were in fact shocked that he had no objections to your leaving."

Smugness evaporated like drops of water on a hot day. "I think you have known us too long, _Thranduilion_," Elladan said sulkily, though a smile still sparkled in his gray eyes.

"Aye." Elrohir cast a long, measuring look at the elven prince. "There may come a time when you know too much of us and we will be forced to kill you."

"I should like to see you try," Legolas snorted. "For neither of you _Noldor_ elves could outshoot me, nor could you catch me if I took to flight."

Elladan nodded as if in deep thought, dark braids falling around his face. "Aye," he agreed. Legolas was surprised at this, for it was more like the twins to protest any slights upon their race, and especially upon their own ability. He opened his mouth to express how glad he was that the elder twin was at last seeing the truth, but the teasing gleam in the gray eyes made him shut it again.

"Tis true," Elladan straightened from his leaning position and threw his arm about his brother. "We cannot outshoot the prince of Mirkwood, and it has been proved in many footraces that Legolas is faster than either of the twin sons of Elrond. Although," he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "it has been disputed whether or not he really won those races, as all three finished so closely together that it could not be decided who was in actuality the first to cross the finish line."

"Only disputed by you," Legolas said dryly.

Ignoring him completely, Elladan continued on. "_However_. Even though we cannot catch the elusive prince, we do not have to." The twins exchanged a mirth filled looked, then directed their faces back towards their friend.

"All we have to do is wait for the heir of Mirkwood to fall asleep." Elrohir chuckled.

"Then," Elladan laughed, "we sneak up upon him and tickle his pointed little ears…"

One slender hand snaked out with the speed of a striking snake and seized the fist that was intent on laying a blow upon the dark-haired elf lord's cranium. Elladan raised an eyebrow teasingly. "You're getting slower, Legolas."

"_I_ have just been wakened from sleep," the prince said with as much dignity as he could muster. He tugged, trying to loose his hand, but Elladan held him fast. With a jerk, Elrond's eldest pulled Legolas forward into the twins' hearty embrace.

"We are glad to see you too, _mellon nin_," Elrohir whispered into Legolas' pointed ear. "We are glad to see you too."

0-0-0-0

The three elves strode down the rode, bantering and joking as they went. Legolas' belongings had been swiftly packed up, and he gladly joined the twins on their way. Elrond's sons were equally happy to travel in the company of their friend, though they found as they continued their journey that he seemed to be oddly distracted.

"Something wrong?" Elrohir asked mildly as Legolas turned his head once again, blue eyes raking the distant cliffs of the Misty Mountains.

"Not exactly wrong…" the prince pointed one finger towards the trees that grew over the cliffs. "Last night I noticed smoke coming up from the woods. I wondered then if there were a forest fire, or something of the like. However," he turned back, shrugging as he did so. "As far as I can tell, nothing is out of control. Perhaps someone lit a larger fire than they intended to, or perhaps there _was_ a blaze but it burned itself out."

"Not hard to do," Elladan remarked. "As the weather has been so damp."

"Aye." The prince shrugged once more. "Like I said, it's not something that's wrong, it just…caught my attention."

Elrohir cocked his head to the side. His gray eyes narrowed as he watched the prince resolutely turned his blond head away from the cliffs. Odd that Legolas had even found it worth mentioning. Something about the smoke had troubled the woodelf more than he liked to admit.

There it was again. The feeling that something about this journey was…

Was what?

Elrohir sighed softly. Soon they would reach Lothlorien. Two days, perhaps three. Most likely two. Even when Elladan complained about rising so early in the morning, he did not put up as much of a fight as he normally would have. The elder twin could say as much as he wanted about simply indulging Elrohir, but he could not fool his brother. Elladan also wanted to get to Lothlorien as quickly as possible.

The dark-haired elf looked back at the cliff once himself. The smoke Legolas spoke of was barely visible in the dawn's bright light. Even his sharp, elven eyesight had trouble picking it out.

It was nothing. Nothing important. Elrohir pushed it to the back of his mind and strode towards Lothlorien with a hasty step. The sooner he saw Estel, the better he would feel.

_Somehow,_ he thought dryly _All of this unease is Estel's fault._

0-0-0-0

_Somehow,_ Halith thought murderously, _All of this is Strider's fault._ He didn't know exactly how, but he was certain that it was indeed all because of the ranger that he had lost yet _another_ of his men. It was all because of the ranger that they had been attacked by wargs. It was _definitely_ all because of the ranger that he was traipsing blindly through the woods in the vain hope that he would discover something that would lead him to his former captive.

Halith stopped and ran a hand through his white hair. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps Strider really had gone back up the way of the mountains. In which case he had been walking through the woods for a good hour all for _nothing_. In a fit of frustration, the elderly villain kicked at the ground.

The toe of his boot disappeared into the soft loam only to come to an abrupt halt with a metallic sounding 'thud'. Halith hopped about for a few minutes, cursing vehemently if not loudly.

When he finally ceased his dance of pain, the former corsair dropped to one knee and plunged his hand into the leafy mound. Gnarled fingers curled almost instantly around an object he was very familiar with indeed. Frustration fled in the space of a heartbeat. Halith jerked the object out.

A sword.

Not just any sword either. He recognized this sword as belonging to his man that had died in the warg attack. It had been buried on purpose. Halith dug into the loam once more and almost instantly felt the rough hemp of rope brushing his fingers. The villain drew it forth with grim triumph. Yes, these were the bonds that held the ranger. They had been cut through, most likely by the sword. Why had he left the sword? Did he have any other weapon?

The villain tapped his fingers against the ground absentmindedly as his agile brain began spinning. Strider had stopped here to free his legs. Before he went any further, he must have done something to care for the limb that had been broken. Halith knew that the man could not have escaped crawling the entire time. So, he splinted his leg. Then what? Even with a leg splinted, it would not take a full man's weight.

The tapping fingers suddenly hit the edge of a hole in the ground. Halith jerked his hand back quickly, expecting it to be the burrow of some small mammal that would no doubt attack the strange pink enemy attempting to enter its home. _That would be embarrassing_, he mused. _Wounded by a mole._

The single dark eye narrowed. It was not the burrow of a creature, but something had punched a hole into the soft ground roughly two inches wide. It was not the only one, either. A few feet away there was another like it. And a few feet beyond _that_.

So.

Halith rose slowly to his feet, a crooked smile wrinkling his weathered face. Strider had splinted his leg, and then he had found something to use as a crutch. The corsair shook his head. The ranger was every bit as intelligent and resourceful as he had always been.

The smile turned sour as Halith strode through the woods, following the new trail. This was exactly the reason that he believed Strider should die. One tended not to survive very long when one had intelligent enemies.

After finding Strider's trail, Halith's progress was very swift. He understood now why the ranger could not have taken the sword with him. It would have slowed him down considerably. The corsair's mouth tightened into a grim line. Not that it made any difference in the long run. Even at his advanced age, he could keep pace with any ten younger men for a full day of hard travel. Catching up to one heavily injured man did not worry him overly much.

Something was moving through the trees ahead. Strider? Perhaps. It was still too far away to be certain. However, his inner sense of direction told him that he was coming close to the cliffs. Strider couldn't have gone straight East for very much further. Upon reaching the edge he would be forced to turn North or South. If he were in any better condition, Halith would not have put it beyond Strider to simply climb straight down the cliff-face.

A faint sound caught Halith's ear. He froze. The old villain's eye narrowed. He knew that sound. He had heard it quite recently.

That was the snarl of a warg.

As if in a dream, he felt himself running forward, booted feet crashing through the undergrowth. No, not a dream. A nightmare. He could see them clearly now through the trees. Two wargs. They must have been part of the pack that had attacked last night, for both were injured.

Injured predators usually found themselves in deep trouble, unless they were able to capture prey even more disadvantaged than themselves.

In this case, the beasts had done so.

Strider stood near the edge of the cliffs, all his weight resting on his right leg. The ranger held a crude lance across his body like a quarterstaff. Halith realized it was probably what he had been using as a crutch. The man's face was pale with pain, but his silver eyes were focused intently on the monsters that stalked slowly towards him.

Halith, cursing violently to himself, pushed his feet onward ever faster. His sword flew from it's sheath even as his booted feet sped over the ground. The old man wished that any other fate than this might have been his. He wanted this man dead! He wanted Strider dead with a passion that surpassed almost any he had ever felt before. And yet here he was. Forced to save the ranger's life…

…if he could. The larger warg was already bunching his hind legs, preparing to spring. Halith knew that Strider would never be able to defend himself. The ranger had no weapon other than the crutch.

Faster…he had to push himself faster…

The warg propelled itself forward with a snarl. Halith almost stopped his forward dash, expecting to see Strider brought down and torn apart by the warg's fangs.

Strider allowed his good leg to collapse under him as the warg leapt. The creature's snarl turned to a yelp as it flew completely over its intended prey, landing precariously on the edge of the cliff. Claws slipped and crunched as it fought for purchase, but before the beast could regain its balance, Strider was already swinging his crude crutch. The branch cracked as it was smashed against the warg's injured flank. With a howl, the monster tumbled out of sight.

The smaller creature yowled angrily as it saw its pack leader disappear over the cliff. Before it could think of leaping however, Halith was upon him. The former corsair knew he would have only one chance to strike. He was tired from the attack last night. If he only wounded the beast, it was likely that the little warg would be able to turn and savage him before he could pull his sword free. Halith doubted that Strider would be in any position to lend assistance, even if the dark-haired man wished to.

The blade glittered in the early morning light. It flew true, like a bird of prey sighting his next meal.

The warg's howl of rage changed to a high-pitched scream of pain as Halith's weapon pierced its shaggy hide.

The villain heaved a sigh of relief. He had hit home. The warg's cry died into a whimper as it sank to the ground. Halith's weathered face was impassive as he jerked his blade free of the rapidly dying creature. With a shrug, the villain dismissed the animal from his thoughts. It was no longer a threat.

A hiss of pain brought the old man's attention elsewhere. His single eye swung up to meet the icy glare of his _real _threat. Strider was pulling himself upright against the trunk of a tree. The ranger's teeth were bared in a grimace of pain, but his silver eyes were fierce. Dark strands of hair fell across his face, accenting how pale he had turned.

Halith glared back at him in helpless fury. The bitter irony of being forced to save Strider's life galled him. Warg blood dripped from the blade clenched in his fist. The knuckles of his hand were turning white as he gripped the hilt. How he would _love_ to have something other than warg blood splashed across the forest floor by his sword.

"I warned you, ranger," he ground between clenched teeth. "I promised you that I would make you regret trying to escape." He took a step forward. "I intend to keep that promise."

To his surprise, white teeth flashed from the depths of Strider's beard in what was unmistakably a smile. A smile of absolutely no mirth. The kind of smile one saw on the faces of men who knew that they were going into a battle to die, and looked forward to the glory of the fight.

Strider shook his head. "I do not think so."

Halith leapt forward, hands grasping.

They closed on thin air as his quarry took one step backward and fell over the edge of the cliff.

0-0-0-0

_Mae govannen, Thranduilion---Well met, son of Thranduil_

_No din---Be silent._

_Mellon nin---my friend_

_Mellyn nin---my friends_

_Gwanor---brother_

_0-0-0-0_

**Okay…so I left the story kind of exactly where I left it the **_**last**_** time I posted. I know that's it's really nasty of me, but I love reviews anyway. /big hopeful grin/ Next chapter to be up be either Friday or Saturday.**


	8. Into the Golden Wood

**Okay, firstly, allow me to express my extreme remorse for not having posted in such a horribly long time! Secondly, I am actually very deeply touched. Several people sent messages asking if I was alright, and I really appreciate it.:) I did go through a rough period in the past couple months, involving a serious breakup and for a while I just couldn't write anything. I know that it is not a good excuse, but I really am sorry for the long delay and I hope that everyone enjoys the next chapter.:) I should be able to resume my normal posting schedule now, (please no cracks about expecting the next chapter next year.:)) and I am looking forward to finishing up this story! Woohoo!**

0-0-0-0

Aragorn watched with a mixture of relief and frustration as Halith leapt forward to stab the warg. The ranger knew he had seconds to find an escape. His options were very limited, to say the least. Silver eyes darted to the edge of the cliff. About fifteen feet down, there was a ledge large enough for a man. Did he dare it?

Halith's single eye was concentrated on the warg at his feet. The villain was busy pulling his sword free. The ranger grasped the trunk of the tree nearest to him and started to haul himself upright. His crutch was useless; it was almost in two pieces from the blow he had laid upon the larger warg. A hiss of combined pain and frustration escaped his lips as his broken leg let him know in no uncertain terms that it did not enjoy being jostled.

Halith looked up at the slight sound and his dark, cruel eye met Aragorn's silver ones. The old man was breathing hard, his chest heaving. Blood dripped gently from the blade in his gnarled hands. The villain's fingers clenched tightly around the hilt and Aragorn knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he could, Halith would have loved to plunge the blade through Aragorn's heart.

The ranger glared back at him fiercely, teeth bared as he ground them together to stop from screaming. Halith's feeling of hatred was entirely mutual. Aragorn remembered what this man had done. Years had passed and he had not been able to forget the sight of Legolas crumpled on the forest floor, left for dead by the men that had beaten him.

He had not forgotten his brothers and the wounds they had received when they had disregarded their own well being and tracked him.

He had not forgotten his own pain and the scars he bore to this day.

Now, Halith would do even worse than he had already done. He would bring the Hope of Men to stand before the dark throne of Mordor.

"I warned you, ranger." Halith sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. The old man's face was twisted with rage, but he was in control of himself. "I promised you that I would make you regret trying to escape." He took a step forward, intent upon his supposed prey. "I intend to keep that promise."

Aragorn swiftly calculated his chances of survival if he allowed himself to be recaptured.

None.

The booted heel of his left foot edged backwards slightly.

The chances if he took the other option? Not very high…but they existed.

Aragorn forced a smile to spread across his face. It was not a pleasant smile. "I do not think so." He said quietly.

A blank look crossed Halith's face for only the fraction of a second before the villain realized what Aragorn intended. He lunged, but the former corsair was too late. Aragorn's left leg had already swung backwards over the edge of the cliff.

For one eternal moment, the ranger saw Halith's gnarled hands grasping for him. It was like everything had dropped into slow motion. Aragorn could see with perfect clarity every line, crease, and scar that had etched itself upon Halith's hands as they drew closer…

Closer…

Then time snapped back into the normal speed and Aragorn felt his stomach leap up into his throat as Halith's hands were replaced with sky, then upside down landscape, then cliff face…

He was tumbling in a backwards flip. And if he had one moment to spare, he would use it to be very, very sick. However, he did not have that moment. He had to pay attention or else he would miss the ledge he knew should be _THERE_!

One hand seized the edge of the rock face bringing him to an abrupt halt and slamming his body into the cliff. If Aragorn thought that he had been in pain before, it was nothing to what he was now. Blackness and stars floated around the edges of his vision and he realized with a start that he was horribly close to passing out. He couldn't do that! The hand that was holding him in place was already slipping free as his consciousness decided that reality was far _far_ too painful at the moment and things would be much better in an hour or two.

Only, if he lost his senses now there would never _be_ another hour. Aragorn tried to reason with himself, but the crippling waves of pain raging from his leg and nearly dislocated arm were presenting a much more formidable argument.

To his horror, the ranger felt his fingers slowly slide free even as blackness swallowed his vision and prevented him from seeing it with his own eyes.

0-0-0-0

Halith lunged, but was too late. His hands were left grasping air as Strider dropped over the edge. Landing on his knees, the former corsair swiftly crawled forward and looked down…

He saw the ranger seize hold of a ledge, halting his abrupt fall. The slender body crashed against the rock face and hung there for a moment. Halith felt his mouth drop open. It was amazing that the man had held on through that. His pain tolerance had to be phenomenal…

Just as the thought was crossing Halith's mind, Strider's fingers slipped. The man fell once more, and crashed into another, smaller ledge. His limp form left the villain no doubt that he had lost consciousness. That might make things easier; it might make them more difficult. Was he even alive? He had better be.

The old man pounded his fist against the ground. Why did everything have to be so difficult? The wargs had been bad enough, but now this! This would cost them hours, if not the entire day. First, he would have to find his men, and various deities only knew how long _that_ would take. Someone would have to rappel down to the ranger and then the prisoner would have to be hoisted up the cliff face.

Halith eyed Strider warily. He was fairly certain that the man was trapped upon the ledge. He had no rope, nor any other climbing gear, and his leg had to be even more damaged from the fall. It was probably safe for Halith to leave him there and be certain of his presence when the former corsair returned.

Probably.

Halith groaned softly to himself as he stood. 'Probably' was not his preferred odds, but it seemed he had no choice. He certainly could not retrieve the ranger by himself. At the very least he would have to return to the campsite and fetch some rope from one of the packs.

With a deep sigh, the villain strode back the way he had come, wiping his sword as he went. The only thing he could do now was make sure that he traveled at double speed. His dark brows drew together in a fierce scowl, the single eye gleaming with cruel intent. Strider was going to pay for the loss of time.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn was afloat in a cloud of darkness. He knew this place very well. He had been here many, many times before. This was the place of unconsciousness where he became aware that he was not awake, and knew that he was about to rejoin the land of the living. Usually, this realization was followed by a great deal of pain.

Ah, yes, there it was.

Silver eyes flew wide as the ranger woke with a gasp. Some instinct kept him lying still instead of trying to rise immediately, and it was a very fortunate thing. The few seconds he remained lying on his back allowed him to get his bearings. He was positioned on a small ledge, from which he could easily roll off of at any moment. How had he gotten here? He remembered falling, and catching hold of a ledge, but he did not remember pulling himself up on one.

The ranger tried to sit up, but no matter how slowly he moved his leg, it still screamed that it was not at all ready to be shifted. Fine. He wasn't in a hurry to move anyway. Aragorn allowed himself to sink back with a sigh. Silver eyes stared upwards, and he was slightly shocked to see that the sun was already past its zenith and moving towards the West.

Just how long had he been here?

One thing was certain, however long he had remained unconscious, he could no longer stay where he was.

The dark-haired man peered over the edge and sighed dismally. This was not the path he would have chosen. However, beggars could not be choosers. With painstaking slowness, the ranger forced his aching body into a sitting position, his back against the cliff face, legs dangling over the ledge.

Oh, he didn't know if he was going to be able to do this. Sweat had already broken out across his forehead and his teeth were literally grinding against each other as he fought to keep from screaming. Aragorn leaned his head back against the rocks and took a deep breath. One hand swiped halfheartedly at the dark strands falling over his silver eyes, but he was in too much pain to care overly much about the state of his hair.

He knew that if he sat for too much longer his body would be well on the way to convincing his mind that it was much better to just stay here. He couldn't do that. Not if he wanted to have any real chance of escaping.

Sword-callused hands grasped the rock face tightly as Aragorn ever so slowly shifted his weight off of the ledge and allowed himself to dangle, supported only by the muscle in his arms.

As he had expected, it was very uncomfortable, and it would not get any better. This was _not_ the path he would have chosen. His escape rested entirely in the strength of his arms. Now, he knew that he could climb the rock face using only his arms and resting occasionally. He had done so before.

Of course, that had been a _long_ time ago when he was still young and stupid and thought that he would never die…

The barest hint of a smile flitted over Aragorn's bearded face. His brothers had been opposed to the scheme naturally. Of course, then he had only been Estel, and his boyish pride was hurt when they even suggested that he was not strong enough for such an endeavor. He had proved them wrong at great risk to his life. The twins had been so furious! The smile widened slightly. He could still remember Elladan bellowing at him. Stupid, half-witted, reckless, and moronic were some of the tamer names the elder twin had hurled at him. Of course, he had most likely missed a few of the titles aimed at his person despite the fact that Elladan had been yelling them loudly enough for all of middle earth to hear. The reason being that at the same time Elladan had been bawling his youngest brother out he had also been shaking the young human _quite_ hard. Aragorn actually grinned. Yes, he believed that he had missed the entire second half of the eldest twin's diatribe due to the ringing in his ears.

The grin turned to a grimace. This was not good. Not only were his arms burning already, but also there was a sharp ache piercing his right shoulder. Aragorn's mouth tightened ever so slightly. He must have jolted his shoulder when he caught himself. That would not help things.

The ranger dug the toe of his right foot into a crevice and rested his weight on it as he searched for a new handhold.

Now, if he was going to climb a cliff without rope and limited use of his legs, this was definitely the one he would choose. Unfortunately, being the most suitable for such actions did not make the actions in and of themselves 'suitable'. Especially with his left leg. Every tiny motion seemed to send jolts of agony traveling up from his calf all the way through his thigh and then just for good measure they decided to continue the journey, ascending into his spinal cord.

Not pleasant. Not one bit.

Aragorn growled softly. Blast Halith! The old villain had certainly done his best to insure that the ranger would not be able to escape. Silver eyes darted to the top of the cliff. Halith was not there, but that did not ease the dark-haired man's fears. Where was he? Where had he gone? To fetch the rest of his men? Seeing Strider unconscious might have lulled him into a false sense of security. He might have assumed that the ranger would not be able to go any further after a fall like that.

He had underestimated his opponent if that was the case.

But by how much?

Dark strands of hair kept falling across his eyes, distracting him. This was not a time when he could afford to be distracted. A small shelf below had already drawn his attention. If he could make it there he could rest for a moment. A moment was all he could afford.

By the time he had lowered himself onto the narrow strip, his biceps were screaming in protest. It had been a long time since he had asked this much of his body. Silver eyes squeezed themselves shut as Aragorn forced himself to think of something else…anything else…

His mind turned to the last occasion when he had clung to a cliff face. How old had he been then? Sixteen? Seventeen? The dark-haired man stretched his arms over his head slowly, keeping them from seizing up as he rested.

It was a tradition for the young elves of Imladris. The elder elves did their best to discourage the feat (despite the great number that had completed the task themselves). An elf soon to reach his majority of years would travel to the cliffs, usually in the company of an elder brother, or if no brother existed, a friend that had already completed the task.

Usually, the elf in question would use ropes for a safety, but not for leverage. They would climb down from the top, using only their arms.

Aragorn swiped his forehead. Sweat was trickling down his face and back. Already, his shirt clung to him like a second skin. The ranger grasped a rocky outcrop firmly as he resumed his descent.

Once he had heard of the tradition, the young human had insisted upon trying it. Aragorn could see Elladan in his mind's eye, dark eyebrows drawn together in a ferocious scowl. The elder elf had expressed his…strong belief…that Estel would not be capable of the task and that to try was an unnecessary risk. Actually, (a short chuckle escaped the ranger's lips as he remembered) Elladan had loudly questioned Estel's sanity using several words the young man had logged away to add to his own growing supply of obscenities. Aragorn dug the fingers of his right hand into a narrow crack. He had only known that they were uncouth words because Elrond had coldly reprimanded his eldest child for using such language. Though Estel had been heartened for a moment by his father's cold tone towards Elladan his hope swiftly faded. While Elrond might not agree with his firstborn's means of communication, the message was no different coming from the lord of Imladris. Estel was not to be allowed to attempt the climb.

Aragorn hung for a moment, searching for his next handhold and gritting his teeth as his shoulders began to scream in protest.

He had briefly sought for sympathy from Elrohir, and sympathy he had received. Unfortunately for him, sympathy did not convert to assistance. Elrohir was as firmly convinced as his twin that Estel should not be allowed to climb the cliffs.

Aragorn shook his head as he remembered his past actions. He had been so hurt in his perception that they thought him weak. He had believed that they were convinced of his ineptitude, and had set out to prove them wrong. Foolish. Little had he known that _every_ parent in Imladris had refused their child the tradition. Elrond's unwillingness to let him try had not stemmed from Estel's being human, but from a natural wish to protect his child by forbidding him to take an unnecessary and foolish risk. The ranger wondered briefly if he had known then that Elrond had also forbidden the twins to attempt the climb when they were younger if it would have made a difference…

His palms were sweating, making his grip unsteady. Aragorn swallowed hard. If he slipped now, he had no doubt it would mean his death.

The first time he had tried to descend his palms had been sweating too. Of course, he had come without the traditional escort. And without the ropes.

Eager to prove himself, the young man had snuck out in the dead of night and traveled on his own to the cliffs. Looking back on his actions, Aragorn wondered how on earth he had survived. Perhaps it was not _so_ unusual. After all, the twins had taught him to hunt, so he had not starved, and it had only been six years after the battle of the five armies so the goblins of the Misty Mountains had been _very_ subdued. Also, and he winced as he remembered, he had chosen a time when the twins had been absent and had left a note for his father telling Elrond that he was intending to go hunting and would not be back home for several days.

His left leg bumped against the rocks and Aragorn hissed as pain flared. He did not know exactly what had happened, but somehow, the twins had discovered his plan. They arrived in time to find him halfway down the cliff.

Aragorn braced his right leg for a moment, allowing it to take his weight off exhausted arms. He leaned his face into the cliff, breathing heavily. Dark hair clung to his forehead, wet with sweat. He could feel the fabric of his shirt clinging to his back with the perspiration of his exertions. His arms were trembling from the strain and the ranger gritted his teeth together. A wry look lit his silver eyes with amusement for a fleeting moment. He did _not_ remember the climb being this difficult. Of course, he had been many years younger at the time and uninjured.

Upon catching up to him, his brothers had known better than to distract the young man by calling to him. Instead, they had waited until he had completed his task. He winced now, knowing how they must have held their breaths every time he paused, trying to find a hold. Every time he almost lost his grip. But he had made it. Oh how proud he had been. Stuffed up with it until he was likely to burst. _He_ had finished the climb. Even though he wasn't an elf, he had managed. Wouldn't _that_ show Elladan and Elrohir. _Now_ they would know that he was just as strong as they were…

The elves had descended the cliff themselves, knowing that it would be faster than taking the path through the foothills. A good two days faster. Estel had decided to camp at the base, then take the path back through the Misty Mountains the next morning. His brothers had appeared out of the darkness, stepping into the light of his fire.

Aragorn shuddered slightly even now as he remembered. He had risen from his seat, happy to see them. Happy that he would have a chance to brag about his accomplishment so soon. The happiness had lasted until the moment he had truly looked into their faces.

The gleam of elf lords hung about them. Wrath was kindled in their gray eyes and their faces were fair and terrible to look upon.

The young human had stepped back quickly, but he had not been fast enough to avoid the clutches of his eldest brother. With a single graceful leap, Elladan had cleared the fire and caught hold Estel.

Aragorn felt his fingers sliding and tightened his grip. He knew now that he had richly deserved the scolding Elladan had given him, but at the time it had seemed blown far out of proportion. Now, he knew that his being human had very little to do with the twins' worry.

They had been worried because they loved him like a brother, and the climb was dangerous.

They had been worried because they had no desire to see him hurt.

The ranger winced as a sharp edge of rock dug into his palm. Silver eyes flashed with annoyance. One would think that with the overwhelming agony flaring from his broken leg and the pulsing ache coming from his shoulder he would be immune to such small discomforts as a rough handhold. That's how things _should_ be in his opinion. However, as he well knew, the world was not fair. If the world was fair, given the extraordinary amount of bad luck he had run into, for the next few years everything should run smoothly. For example, he would have no trouble reaching the bottom of the cliffs, his leg would miraculously heal overnight, Halith would succumb to some sort of heart seizure and the twins would be completely fine with the man they had long looked upon as their younger brother courting their sister.

Aragorn giggled softly. Perhaps the pain was making him a little lightheaded. He knew his luck better than most. If there was a difficult situation to be found, he would find it. Legolas had long blamed the ranger for every mishap that had ever befallen the two friends when they traveled together. The ranger sighed as he slid one hand into a crevice. Unfortunately, Legolas was usually right. Not always, but usually. Aragorn was simply a draw for misfortune.

Perhaps the Valar had not forgotten Isildur's misdeeds and sought to take their vengeance on the last king of Gondor's only descendant.

Given his luck, not only would he probably _not_ make it to the bottom of the cliffs, but at about this moment…

"OI!"

Startled, the ranger's head jerked up. He could see the top of the cliff, and more importantly, he could see the eight men looking down at him.

Aragorn could have cracked his forehead against the rocks if he thought it would do him any good at all. As he had just been thinking, it was about time for Halith to show up again.

And so he had.

0-0-0-0

Halith's fingers clenched around the length of rope he had flung over his shoulder so hard his knuckles were turning white. He had experienced a moment of panic on returning to the cliff, looking down and not seeing the ranger where he had expected him to be. Had the man somehow rolled from his position? Had Strider decided that death was preferable to the fate in store for him?

Personally, Halith would have agreed with him, but it would make things very awkward for the former corsair if that were indeed the case.

"Look!" One of his men pointed urgently. The aged villain had been relatively fortunate; if one could call losing what would most likely amount to a full day's travel fortunate. On returning to the campsite to fetch rope from the packs, he had encountered his men. They had decided that they had reached a point where Strider simply could not have gotten that far on a broken leg, and returned to the campsite intending to try the opposite direction. Halith was quite pleased to see them, as he was not sure if he would be able to retrieve Strider's unconscious form by himself.

It would seem, however, that it would not be a problem after all.

Strider was not unconscious.

The former corsair could not really comprehend what he was seeing. It was too fantastic.

"He's climbing the rocks," one of the men said softly, as though he too could not believe that it was actually happening.

"He's got very good arms," another mentioned in admiration. The man in question shut his mouth with a snap, wishing that he had not spoken as Halith turned an evil glare on him.

Halith opened his mouth to berate his minion for being stupid enough to say something that had no point. Before he could utter a word, however, another of the men had cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted down the cliff side.

"OI!"

The former corsair could have murdered the man. He contented himself with a sharp punch to the thug's jaw. If he had caused Strider to fall…

But no. The dark-haired ranger looked up sharply, but he did not lose his hold. Halith breathed a sigh of relief. Swiftly, he pulled the coil of rope from his shoulder and looped one end around a tree. He ran the other end through his belt loops, but did not tie it. A flick of his wrist and the free end of the rope sailed out over the cliff. One of his men handed him a pair of leather gloves and the old villain pulled them on. Halith took the rope in one hand and turned his back on the edge of the cliff. The old man shook his white hair out of his face, the lines around his mouth grim and tight. He did _not_ want to do this. His right hand tightened about the rope as he leaned backwards, resting his entire weight upon the hemp strands and using his heels to balance against the cliff edge. A quick glance downwards let him see his prey. Strider was almost directly below him, nearly a hundred feet down by now.

Halith took a deep breath, and pushed hard with his legs against the cliff, thrusting himself into a free fall. The rope whizzed through his fingers and he could feel the heat of the friction, even through his gloves. He was swinging back towards the rock face now, descending from the point of his parabola. The old man bent his knees and squeezed the rope tightly. His collision with the cliff face was not terribly painful, but it was not the most comfortable either. He glanced downwards again. Strider was still a good eighty feet below.

With a grimace, Halith pushed away from the cliff again.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn saw him coming. With a grunt, the ranger shifted his focus. He knew that he would never beat Halith in a race to the cliff bottom. Not unless he wanted to let go of the cliff face entirely and let gravity do the rest. The dark-haired man glanced down, but shook his head. That was not an option.

Or rather, it was an option, but one that he would not take unless all others were closed to him. Perhaps if he could not climb down…

0-0-0-0

Halith glared at the ranger. His dark eyebrows were so knotted together that Aragorn wondered if the man would ever be able to untangle them. The single eye was doing its level best to convey its owner's feelings of hatred and maliciousness, and was doing rather well.

The older man's eye was level with Aragorn's silver gaze. It was also nearly twenty feet too far away for Halith to reach out and seize his intended victim. Instead of heading downwards, Aragorn had climbed sideways. It was a very temporary solution, he knew. However, the expression on Halith's face was well worth the effort.

The ranger grinned. He was hanging from a cliff with only his arms. The muscles of his body had decided all at one moment to protest the demands he made of them. His shoulder was beginning to throb in real earnest, and he could not even think of his broken leg at the moment or he would be overwhelmed. Despite his sever discomfort and real agony, he could not help the grin that forced itself across is bearded cheeks. The grin mocked his pursuer, infuriating the former corsair even further.

Halith really looked quite wild. He hung from the rope, legs braced against the cliff, both hands gripping his lifeline tightly. A fierce expression was contorting his already weathered features as his thick white hair clung to his face and neck. "You," his voice shook with malice as the dark eye narrowed. "You are making this harder than it has to be!"

Aragorn snorted softly. "Cooperation still ends with me being dead," he replied shortly, more from lack of breath than anything else. He would have loved to taunt his enemy. It was a pastime of his to see just how far he could enrage his foes.

A fairly dangerous pastime, but a pastime nonetheless. Besides, there was always the chance that he would infuriate his enemy enough so that the foe would make a mistake. It was unlikely to happen in Halith's case, but there was always the slim chance.

Aragorn glanced at the corsair out of the corner of his eye and the grin swiftly vanished. Halith was doing what the ranger had known he would. The old man had braced his legs against the cliff face and tied off the rope at his waist so that he would not descend any further. Now he was leaning his full weight against the rope and bouncing to the right. He intended to swing to Aragorn's position.

There wasn't much the bearded man could do to stop him either. Aragorn ground his teeth together in frustration, but he could not move fast enough to avoid his enemy and he knew it. If he tried, he would undoubtedly fall.

The ranger heard the creak of the rope, a swishing sound, and had barely a moment to prepare himself for the inevitable impact…

Halith swung into him, immediately catching hold of Aragorn's torn shirt in one hand while wrapping a thick arm about the younger man's throat. Even though he had been expecting it, Halith's impact caused more pain than Aragorn could really cope with at the moment. A sharp cry exploded from his lips, but was swiftly choked off by a bicep being flexed around his air pipe.

The aged corsair's strength had not waned with his years. He clung to Aragorn like a limpet.

Stars were starting to burst around the edges of his vision. Pain and lack of air were _not_ helping him to maintain his grip on the cliff, nor even on his consciousness. The rocks he was clinging to were digging into his hands even more fiercely with Halith's added weight. The corsair was too intelligent, Aragorn knew. Halith was allowing his enemy to support both of them; the villain's body weighing cruelly upon Aragorn's already taxed arms. With the old man's arm tightening about his neck, the ranger knew that his time awake was very limited. There was nothing he could do to stop it. If he let go of the cliff with even one hand to try and fight, he would lose his grip with the other. Halith would have both of them hauled to the top of the cliff. If he did not let go and try to fight, Halith would choke him to unconsciousness, then have them both hauled to the top of the cliff.

Life, he reflected, somewhat sourly, was not very fair.

The white-haired man decided his foe was not passing out quickly enough. With brutal strength, Halith kicked out. His booted foot connected very solidly with Aragorn's dangling left leg.

Little air or no, the dark-haired ranger could not restrain the scream of agony that ripped from his throat. His only blessing was that while the pain was intense and overpowering, it only lasted a few seconds before he slipped away into darkness.

0-0-0-0

Halith grunted in satisfaction as Strider's body went limp in his arms. As Strider passed out, his hands released their hold and the pair dangled from the rope tied about Halith's waist. Exceedingly uncomfortable.

"Pull!" he roared upwards, winding his left arm around the ranger's rib cage tightly. His right moved from Strider's neck to join his left. His men up top began to haul the pair upwards and Halith ground his teeth together. The rope was cutting painfully into his middle with his prisoner's added weight. By the time he had reached the top of the cliff, the villain was bruised and scraped from the journey, he felt as though he had been cut in two, and his arms ached horribly.

"Take him," the old man ground through clenched teeth as soon as he was close enough for his men to reach. They swiftly complied; two men reaching down and hauling the limp figure none too gently over the edge. Another two caught hold of Halith's arms and pulled him up as well.

The old man sank to the ground the moment he was safe. The creases on his weather beaten face deepened considerably as he winced in pain. It was true that he had not lost the strength of his arms, but the stamina of youth was more and more quickly deserting him. Someone was cutting the rope away from his waist, and Halith could see that Strider was being bound securely.

But how secure was he? Obviously, he had already escaped once before.

Halith shook his head in amazement. Tie him hand and foot…break a leg…what would it take to keep the ranger in captivity? Granted, if the wargs had not attacked, then there would not have been the chance for him to cut his bonds, but still. The former corsair dragged one hand through his thick white hair in frustration. What was he to do? What _could_ he do?

Buried in his thoughts, Halith did not notice one of his men was talking to him until the man placed a hand upon his leader's shoulder. Halith jumped slightly, startled out of his musings. "What?" he snapped, annoyed at being taken off guard.

"Should we continue on sir?"

Halith considered. His men had been awake nearly all night fighting the wargs. They were tired and he certainly wasn't looking at traveling with a friendly eye at the moment. Besides, they had already lost half the day. If they started now, they would have no more than five hours at the most before they would have to stop anyway.

"No," he grunted, slowly pushing himself to his feet. The former corsair winced and massaged his middle with one hand as he straightened. He was going to be very sore, very shortly. "We stay here. For tonight." The two abbreviated sentences were all Halith felt up to at the moment. Fortunately, his men did not need detail instructions. After a brief discussion it was decided that they would make do with their scanty provisions for the night, and hunt on the morrow. A guard was posted and most of the company was asleep within half an hour.

Halith did not sleep.

The old man sat very near his captive, chin resting on his hands. The single eye was trained upon Strider's limp form with unwavering intensity.

0-0-0-0

Legolas' blue eyes drifted towards the west. He was tracking the descent of the sun as it proceeded to disappear behind the Misty Mountains. A frown furrowed the fair elf's brow. Something was not quite right.

The prince's gaze turned to the elf at his left. Elladan's step was quick and light, his long legs eating up the distance without the appearance of effort. Legolas frown deepened. Although the Noldor elf's face was calm, there was a tightness to his mouth that was unlike Elladan. Usually, the elder twin was quick to speak and laugh. His jokes and amusing stories made him a traveling companion to be prized. Today, however, despite Legolas' many attempts at conversation, the three friends traveled in silence more often than not. Over the course of the day, there had been times when the twins would seem to relax, to joke and tease and keep up friendly banter…but then their words would die away and not be replaced.

"We should probably stop soon," the prince mentioned idly.

Though he did not comment on it, Legolas saw the swift look the shot between Elladan and Elrohir.

"I think we can continue on a little longer," Elrohir said lightly.

Legolas shrugged. "Of course. It will be a sorry day indeed when I cannot keep pace with _Noldor_ elves for however long they wish to travel." Though he waited for a rebuttal, a heavy silence descended. The prince of Mirkwood bit his lip. Usually, any statement that could possibly be taken as a slur on either Silvan or Noldor elves was leapt upon. A battle of wits between the three elves would ensue.

The twins remained mute, their fair faces grave.

Legolas' frown deepened. "Is something wrong?" he hadn't even meant to ask, but the question burst from his lips. Had Aragorn told them something that he had not shared with the elven prince? Something that had them worried? It would explain their hesitancy to stop. A smirk curled the corner of Legolas' lips even in his concern. More than likely, Aragorn had said nothing and the twins were behaving like mother hens.

Elrohir looked startled by the question, his gray eyes wide. "No…" the younger twin murmured.

"Aragorn did not give you any cause for alarm in his letter, did he?" Though Legolas asked the question casually, the blond elf sincerely hoped his friend had not. For Aragorn to tell someone of his trouble meant that the trouble was very serious indeed.

Another look flashed between Elladan and Elrohir. Legolas was normally very adept at reading is friends' silent method of communication, but every so often he had the distinct impression that Elrond's sons were able to read each others thoughts, and they used their talent to shut everyone else out of their conversation.

This was one of those times.

"Estel wrote nothing that would give any alarm when taken at face value," Elladan said shortly.

Something in the dark-haired warrior's flat tone told Legolas that this was not the time to tease Elladan for his 'mother-hennish' traits.

"But you are worried nonetheless," he pressed.

Elrohir shook his head in frustration, causing his dark braids to whips across pale skin. "It just is…not _right_." His gray eyes were fixed on the road unwinding at his feet.

Legolas opened his mouth to suggest that this was most likely because nothing surrounding his friend was _ever_ right, but Elrohir's tone stopped him. Elrohir was genuinely upset. The prince's blue eyes glanced to the left, surveying his friend seriously.

Elrohir's dark brows were drawn together in a twisted knot, and he was chewing his bottom lip in a very distracted manner.

The blond elf recalled his earlier feeling the something was…maybe a little more than not right. Perhaps something was actually _wrong_.

The sun disappeared behind the Misty Mountains and darkness fell in earnest. Stars began to shine in the sky, but the twins did not seem at all inclined to stop.

Legolas felt the ghost of a smile tug at his lips. "I suppose," he said in a cheerful voice, "that it is always enjoyable to walk underneath the stars."

Elladan glanced at the prince out of the corner of his eye, and Legolas was reminded forcibly of the Lord Elrond's keen penetrating gaze. Apparently, Elladan was not fooled by his friend's cheery demeanor. The elder elf lord did not comment however, and increased his speed.

0-0-0-0

Dark, pre-dawn shadows filled the golden woods. The moon was rapidly fading into a spectral orb in a lightening sky, and the stars had long since taken to their beds. The inhabitants of the elven stronghold had also retired long ago, with the exception of a few.

One of the few was seated on the edge of a flet, his legs swinging. Haldir stretched his long body languorously. Border work could be very dull at times, and this was one of them. Early dawn cloaked the woods of Lothlorien in deep silence. Too early, Haldir knew, for men to pose a great threat, too close to daylight for orcs. The elves watched in pairs, so throughout the night there was conversation and sometimes song, but towards the bleak hours of dawn it was usual for one elf to sleep while the other remained alert. Haldir grinned as he glanced at his companion.

The elf was deep in the land of slumber and elven hearing notwithstanding, Haldir doubted that anything short of an orc troupe cutting down the tree in which rested their flet would raise his friend to wakefulness. Arthes had offered to stay awake, but Haldir had quickly turned him down. The elven commander chuckled softly to himself as he remembered his friend's expression of profound relief. Elves might need less sleep than humans, but Haldir knew that Arthes was the proud father of an extremely new elfling. Haldir also knew that Arthes felt guilty for the times when he was required to be away from his young family and so made up for it by rising with his small offspring and allowing his wife to sleep. Haldir pressed a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing out loud. If he had taken Arthes up on his offer, the exhausted father's face would have haunted him until the day he sailed for Valinor.

A low whistle broke the silence of Lothlorien, wiping the fair elf's smile away. In one silent, graceful movement, the commander was on his feet, an arrow drawn.

The call could have been that of an early morning bird, but it wasn't. It was the warning of a post. A strange warning, he realized. The elf frowned slightly. The other post meant to let him know that there were beings approaching, but had not signaled for danger.

So those that were intruding upon the haven of elves were most likely the same race. Barely had the thought occurred to him when a glimmer caught his eye. Haldir relaxed slightly, letting the taught bowstring go slack. Only elves cast that soft glow. There were three of them, Haldir noted. Two dark-haired and very like each other in appearance, one as fair as himself and clad in the greens and browns of Mirkwood.

He did not recognize the woodelf. However, (a mischievous gleam twinkled in Haldir's eyes) he was _very_ familiar with the dark twins.

Moving silently, the fair elf slipped from the flet into the branches of the mallorn tree. Not a leaf was stirred by his passing. Soft boots padded over the tree's limbs with no more sound than that of a very secretive spider. Haldir glanced down swiftly. Good. He was now positioned directly over the path.

The trio of elves was moving swiftly. Long legs ate up the path with surprising speed. Haldir waited until they had passed beneath him, then dropped to the soft loam, knees bent. A brief smile touched his face as the elves continued on. They had heard nothing. Not even the sons of Elrond could match him when it came to stealth.

Straightening from his crouched position, Haldir took three long strides to position himself directly behind the eldest twin. Grinning widely to himself, Haldir clapped a hand over Elladan's shoulder.

The elven commander knew he had made a mistake at almost precisely the same moment his fingers made contact with the dark elf's body. Tension was seeping through Elladan in waves. As Haldir recalled, Elladan did not usually react well to being surprised when he was under stress…

In the split second it took for Haldir to realize he had done something stupid Elladan spun on his heel and thrust the heel of his hand into the base of Haldir's nose.

The blond elf made a rather ungraceful descent to the forest floor. Stars were bursting on the edges of his vision and something warm and wet was trickling from his nose. Haldir managed to catch himself on his elbows, keeping his head from thudding into the forest floor. He shook his fair head dazedly, trying to get his eyes to focus. Someone was calling his name and they sounded very alarmed…

A face appeared in front of him. An elf. Dark hair, gray eyes. Elladan. Or was it Elrohir? He couldn't tell at the moment. Whoever it was, they looked very concerned. And remorseful. Most likely Elladan. Haldir shook his head again, and blood spattered his tunic. _That,_ he thought with detached annoyance, _is never going to come out._

Another face appeared beside the first, and Haldir shut his eyes quickly. Double vision could be very disorienting.

"Haldir?"

The commander opened his eyes slightly. There were still two faces looking at him. How hard had he been hit?

"Are you all right?" Only one of the face's lips moved. Haldir sighed in relief. He wasn't experiencing double vision after all.

"Haldir?" It was Elladan who was speaking. He sounded anxious.

Haldir swiped at the warm liquid flowing from his nose, staring blankly at the crimson stain on his fingers. _This was ridiculous,_ a voice at the back of his head scolded. _He was an elven warrior. He had been injured many times before and much more seriously! He needed to pull himself together._

"S'okay," he managed to mumble somewhat thickly. "M'alright."

_Oh yes,_ the voice said with scathing sarcasm. _THAT_ _was the truly dignified response of an elven warrior._

Haldir scowled, but was quickly diverted from his inward conversation as he felt a strong hand tip his head back while another pressed a soft cloth beneath his nose.

The fair elf winced at the pressure but did not struggle. By the time the fountain of blood subsided, he felt reasonable clearheaded.

Gently, Haldir pushed Elrohir's hand away and straightened his neck. No more crimson flowed. Haldir felt his cheeks heat as he looked up into the faces of Elrond's sons. "_Mae govvanen, mellyn nin,_" the commander said dryly, trying to mask his embarrassment.

A snort of laughter from behind the twins reminded Haldir that he friends had been traveling with a companion.

"It's not funny, Legolas," Elladan hissed at the other elf.

Legolas…the name was familiar to Haldir.

"Not to you," the blond elf said cheerfully.

Haldir's inward groans doubled at once.

"Nor," Legolas continued with an impish grin, "would I imagine to the poor elf you just flattened."

Hot color flooded Haldir's face all the way to the tips of his pointed ears. This was _not_ the kind of first impression he would have liked to make on a dignitary from another elven kingdom. With as much grace as he could muster, Haldir rose to his feet. (Elrohir might have placed a steadying hand under his elbow.)

Elladan was glaring furiously at the prince of Mirkwood, grey eyes narrowed dangerously. He looked, Haldir thought with some degree of disturbance, remarkably like his grandmother at the moment. Given the resemblance, and the fierceness of the gaze directed at him, Legolas behaved in a very foolish manner in Haldir's opinion.

He continued to tease the elder of Elrond's sons.

"I, on the other hand was fairly amused," the fair elf was saying, blue eyes twinkling. "And if the twitching of his face is anything to go by, so was Elrohir."

Haldir's eyes shot to the younger twin in astonishment. It was true! Elrohir's mouth was set in the grim, straight line of one who was desperately trying not to smile. He wasn't succeeding either.

Disgusted and embarrassed beyond all belief, Haldir removed his elbow from Elrohir's helpful grasp. "I assume," he said loftily, "that you would like to visit our fair city." It took a lot to hold his head up at the moment, but he was managing by pretending that the whole incident had not occurred. "Allow me to inform my companion, and I would be most happy to accompany you." He knew very well that the twins could find their way with ease. He also knew exactly what kind of frosty glare the Lady of the wood would send in his direction if he did not provide an escort for a prince of elven blood. Relationships tended to be fragile between Lothlorien and Mirkwood and it would not do to offend one of the royal family, even unintentionally.

Relieved to remove himself from the presence of the snickering elves, Haldir sighed as he pulled himself up into the Mallorn tree. Why, he asked himself, did everything seem to happen when _he_ was on duty?

More importantly, he pondered with furrowed brow as he glanced backwards, what on Arda was bothering Elladan so badly?

0-0-0-0

The pathway into the heart of Lothlorien was enchanting. Mallorn trees rustled their golden leaves softly. Here and there patches of Eleanor gleamed in the half-light of the early morning. The atmosphere was entirely opposite that of Legolas' home; where the branches felt stifling rather that comforting, and the small amount of light that managed to stab through the darkness was unnatural.

At any other time in his life, Legolas knew that he would have been spell bound and enthralled by the beauty around him. As it was, for perhaps the first time in his life, the elven prince paid no heed to the lovely woodlands that surrounded him.

Legolas bit down on his lip to keep from snickering. He knew that the elf currently leading them forward (Elrohir had introduced him as Haldir) was deeply embarrassed. As was Elladan. Laughing would only rub salt into their wounded egos. Blue eyes darted to the dark-haired elf striding beside him. Most unfortunately, Elrohir happened to look towards Legolas at the same time. Blue eyes met gray.

The gale of laughter that had been struggling to emerge for nearly an hour redoubled its efforts as Legolas saw in Elrohir's face the same inward battle. The corners of Elrohir's mouth trembled and he quickly covered his mouth with a slender hand, abruptly breaking Legolas gaze to fix his eyes on the treetops. It was far too late for such a measure. The look he had shared with his friend had undone him.

Titters began to squeeze themselves through the fingers Elrohir had clamped over his lips.

Legolas tried not to hear them as he felt his own shoulders begin to shake.

Elladan shot a dirty look at the pair of them over his shoulder.

Tears were starting to form in Legolas' eyes as he struggled to keep his features straight under Elladan's baleful glare. Elrohir was overtaken by a violent coughing fit.

Muttering something that sounded like "juvenile little orcs..." Elladan turned his face forward resolutely.

Had they not been interrupted, Legolas might have released the shout of mirth that was swelling within him and then suffered a grievous injury at the hands of either Haldir or Elladan, igniting a grudge between the elven kingdoms and beginning another kin slaying.

As it was, a diversion arrived in the form of a slender, lovely elf-maiden.

Legolas did not see her at first. He was preoccupied with his inner battle, and slightly less observant that he would have been under normal circumstances. It was Elladan who leapt forward suddenly, a glad cry on his lips. Elrohir was right behind him, leaving Legolas and Haldir standing upon the path. Bemused, the elf prince came alongside the commander. The twins had left the path and were sprinting towards a clearing, where there rose a small hill.

Though the hill was beautiful, as was all of Lothlorien, it was not the landscape that made Legolas catch his breath.

An elf maid was descending from the hill and running to meet the sons of Elrond. With her dark hair and pale skin, she seemed ethereal in the semi-gloom of the early morning. Even for an elf. Grace defined every movement, even as she flung herself into Elladan's arms with a gleeful shriek. Arwen Undomiel.

The Evenstar of her people.

The daughter of Lord Elrond.

Legolas' urge to laugh died a swift and brutal death. Swallowing convulsively, the elf prince took a step backwards. Haldir gave him a curious look, but the heir of Mirkwood was not paying attention. Arwen had released Elladan and turned to Elrohir. Her joy upon seeing her brothers was evident in her radiant smile.

It wasn't that Arwen was unpleasant…on the contrary; Legolas had found her to be charming on the few occasions he had come into contact with Elrond's daughter. She was lively, sweet, beautiful, and in possession of her elder brothers' sense of mischief and humor. She, however, was able to maintain a most bewildering air of innocence. No one who was not in her confidence would be able to imagine what she was truly capable of when they gazed into those starry, grey eyes.

Legolas ground his teeth together. She was also, (as his father had taken many pains to remind him of time and time again) a good match for a future mate. Even thinking of such a thing made the prince writhe. He cast a wistful glance down the path; back the way they had come, wondering if it were not too late to run away…

"Legolas!" Elrohir beckoned to his friend enthusiastically. The woodelf groaned inwardly. Too late. With careful courtesy, he stepped forward and approached the trio of elves, trying to travel at a pace that neither denoted eagerness; nor conveyed that he had a fervent desire to be elsewhere. A wry smile tipped his mouth. He had gained a lot of practice at this sort of thing. One of the blessings of being the crown prince of an elven kingdom. Haldir fell into step at his side, and Legolas swore he could see a smirk forming on the elven commander's face. Sticking his tongue out at the smug elf's expression would have been gratifying, but hardly mature. Besides, it was rather just that since he had taken the opportunity to enjoy himself at Haldir's discomfort, the other elf should return the favor.

Elrohir placed a firm hand on Legolas shoulder as soon as the fair elf was within arm's reach. "You have met Arwen, have you not?"

Though scowling inwardly, Legolas pasted a smile over his face. Curse the sons of Elrond. They knew very well that he had met Arwen before.

It was not only Thranduil who continually hinted that Arwen was a most desirable match.

"Of course," he said smoothly. The twins were paying him a great honor, he knew. And he was touched that they considered him suitable for their beloved sister. "It is a pleasure to see you again, _hiril nin_," he said courteously as he took her hand and bent over it.

Legolas, however, knew something the twins did not.

As his lips brushed Arwen's fingers, he winced. Aragorn was in love with Arwen. What kind of friend would he be, the prince questioned, if he were to woo his most precious friend's only love?

A soft sigh escaped his lips as Legolas released Arwen's hand and began to straighten. His eyes went to look into her face…but were caught for the fraction of an instant by a glitter at her white throat.

Blue eyes shot to her grey ones. Legolas silently thanked the Valar that he was not facing the twins at the moment; because they could hardly fail to notice something was up when they saw his jaw bumping against his chest. Arwen's lips curled into a sweet smile, her cheeks flushing as her hand flew to the jewel at her throat.

No doubt the twins were exchanging significant glances behind his back, but Legolas didn't care. His eyes were dancing in his fair face, wide smile completely heartfelt. Indeed, he barely restrained himself from throwing his arms around the slender elleth and lifting her off her small feet in an enthusiastic embrace.

He did restrain himself, however. The elf prince stepped back and allowed the twins to walk alongside their sister as the group turned and slowly made their way back towards the path. Elrohir was teasing Arwen about her seeming reaction to Legolas' courtly gesture. In return, she roundly ignored him and exclaimed over the state of Haldir's tunic. The commander mumbled something about elves that jumped when someone said 'boo'.

Talk swirled around Legolas like leaves on the wind. Caught up in their reunion with their sister, Elladan and Elrohir did not notice that their friend had fallen strangely silent. Legolas himself felt as though he were walking on air. A grin was spreading across his face that he could not conceal. Let the twins think of it what they may! He knew the truth.

And the truth was…the ring of Barahir was strung on a delicate chain around the Evenstar's neck.

The woodelf heaved a sigh of relief. For the first time, he began to appreciate the beauty of the wood of Lothlorien. If Arwen had the ring of Barahir, Aragorn was here, and he was safe. A young elleth in love would not smile so sweetly if her dear one were in danger.

Legolas straightened his shoulders and walked with a new spring in his step. His worrying had been for nothing. The dark-haired elf lords ahead of him had been worried for nothing. A mischievous gleam sparkled in the blue eyes. Oh, he would make sure that they did not forget this soon. He knew all along that they were merely being mother-hennish.

He wanted to ask Arwen about Aragorn, but decided against it. She might be somewhat uncomfortable discussing the dark-haired man with her brothers. Besides, he would soon see the ranger himself. Legolas drew in a deep breath and released it in a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Soon he would see Aragorn.

0-0-0-0

Lady Galadriel awaited them as they climbed high into her bower. Though she and Lord Celeborn greeted their grandsons heartily, she was uneasy. Still, a smile was on her face as she placed her hands on Elladan's shoulders and looked into his eyes. "It is unusual," she said in her low voice, "most unusual to enjoy your presence so early in the morning." He tone was too soft for even the other elves to hear if they bothered to listen. "Indeed, I do not think I have ever heard of your rising so early, _Elrondion_." Elladan blushed uncomfortably.

"Technically," he mumbled, "we didn't rise early."

A single blond brow rose in an unvoiced question.

The elder twin sighed. He had known that at some point he would have to explain his actions. Now, however, in the safe boundaries of the elven kingdom, his worries seemed even more groundless than they had before. Traveling all night to reach Lothlorien seemed, as Legolas would have said most snidely, 'mother-hennish.'

"The night air is most enjoyable for walking." Was it his imagination, or did her blue eyes really see all the way through him?

"Indeed." Galadriel released his shoulders and surveyed him curiously. The other elves were not attending to their conversation; their attention diverted. "That is the only reason?"

One long fingered hand toyed with a black braid nervously. Elladan took a deep breath. "No."

Galadriel's blue eyes narrowed. She could see that her grandson was not himself. He seemed deeply uneasy, and not only with her questioning. Something was troubling him. Her gaze darted to Haldir for a moment and she wondered if his blood stained tunic was in anyway connected to the tension that was tangible in Elrond's eldest son.

With a graceful moment, Elladan removed his pack and untied the drawstrings. "There are two reasons for our…increased speed." He rummaged within the pack briefly. His gray eyes looked up for a moment. "Elrohir and I ran into a group or orcs as we crossed the mountains," he said quietly, trying not to attract the attention of the others.

Galadriel stiffened. No elf could stand the presence of orcs. Their very existence was a perversion of nature. She, however, had a particular aversion to the despicable creatures. Without conscious thought, her slender hand caught hold of Elladan's arm, clutching him tightly. Normally pale, her face turned white. She could think of only a few reasons that would cause her grandsons to hurry so dramatically… Her sharp movement caught the attention of Elrohir, and he looked towards them with eyebrows drawn together.

"No." Elladan abruptly pulled his hand out of the pack and laid it over his grandmother's. A quick glance toward Elrohir reassured the younger twin that all was well. The young elf lord had sensed the fear that Galadriel could not voice. Callused fingers closed over soft, white ones. "No," he repeated, giving her a warm smile to dispel her worries. "Neither of us was wounded. See?" He nodded toward Elrohir. "Both of us are unhurt, _daernaneth_."

Galadriel had not realized she was holding her breath until the words had left his mouth. She felt limp with relief. Rosy lips quirked in a dry smile as she squeezed his strong hand. "Do not frighten me like that." She could not have stood to have another dear one snatched away by those monsters.

Elladan's teeth flashed in a brief grin as he released her hand and delved once more into the pack. "We encountered the orcs on the West side of the mountains," he continued.

Galadriel's head tilted to one side, curious. "That is odd for them to roam so far towards your father's valley…"

Elladan's gray eyes were grim. "They were not mountain orcs." He drew forth an ugly object from the pack. A helm of crude design, obviously orc-made. Galadriel's lips tightened at the sight of it.

"I apologize for bringing such a thing here, _daernana_," Elladan said quickly. "But the symbol they wore was not one I was familiar with." The dark-haired elf turned the helm so that Galadriel could see for herself the emblem that decorated the front. It was badly painted, and somehow seemed obscene; something that had no place in the fair realm of Lothlorien.

Galadriel had frozen at the sight of it. Her beautiful, delicate features became a stern mask. The blue eyes seemed to pierce first the helm, then Elladan himself. "I have seen this before," she said, her voice so low that Elladan had to stoop to hear it. "You said you had two reasons," she continued. "What is the other?"

Elladan could not have explained the feeling of foreboding that struck him, but he could feel it unwinding in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard. "We…that is…Elrohir and I…we were coming to escort Estel home, whenever he felt sufficiently recovered. We felt…." He paused, unsure of how to describe how they had felt. His fingers tightened around the metal edge of the helm. "Uneasy." Gray eyes met blue, and Elladan felt a fist of ice grip his heart. All the fears that he had pushed to the back of his mind…the worry he had felt throughout the trip did not seem silly to him in the least anymore. "_Daernaneth_," he whispered, hardly daring to breath. "Where is Estel?"

Galadriel took the helm from Elladan. One delicate finger tapped the symbol that adorned the black metal. "I have seen this before," she repeated. "In the tortured nightmares of a human man." He entered Lothlorien before the beginning of summer, and here we helped him to regain his strength and heal the wounds of his soul."

Elladan felt as though the world was slowly starting to dissolve around him. He could only stare at the elf woman before him with growing apprehension.

"He had traveled in a terrible land," she continued. "A land of living death." She held up the helm. "The inhabitants of that land all bear the device of their master. The unclosing eye that never sleeps."

Oh Valar. Elladan could have sunk to his knees at that moment, and he honestly didn't know what it was that kept him on his feet. This was what had happened to Estel. _This_ was what his younger brother had not wanted to write of in the letter their father had received. He had traveled through Mordor. Elrond's eldest pressed a shaking hand to his mouth. Oh Valar. Eru. What had happened to his younger brother? Was this why he had been plagued by a feeling of unrest? "Estel…" he finally forced out. "Is he..?"

"Elladan," Galadriel's voice was still low, but tense. "Estel _did_ heal. He is strong. There is a core of steel to this ranger, and he is well chosen for his fate."

Then why did he and Elrohir still feel that there was something wrong? "Can we see him?"

"Elladan," there was an intensity to her gaze that the young elf lord had not encountered before. One slender hand caught hold of his arm and held him with a strength he would not have supposed it to possess. "Estel left here almost a week ago. He was traveling to Rivendell."

Almost a week?

The sound that emerged from Elladan's lips was one that he had never made before. It was the sound of someone waking up from a nightmare only to find that everything he dreamed had come true.

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_Mae govvanen mellyn nin---Well met, my friends. _

_Daernana/daernaneth---Grandma/grandmother_

_0-0-0-0_

**There you are! I hope it was good! I hope everyone loved it! I should have the next chapter up in a week.:)**


	9. Mirror mirror

**I just can't seem to get anything out on time anymore, can I? Although, a day late doesn't really bear any comparison to several months…/smiles hopefully/ anyhoo, here is the next chapter. Finally going to get into a little emotional angstyness of the wondrous sons of Elrond. /evil smile/ Enjoy!**

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Elrohir broke off the conversation he was having with his grandfather abruptly, his grey eyes darting to his twin. What he saw made him gasp.

Elladan's face had turned a color that Elrohir had never seen before. It was as if all the blood in the elf's body had drained away, leaving him white as a newly bleached sheet. His gray eyes were wide and staring. He looked like he had just witnessed some unspeakable horror. One hand was pressed to his lips as though he were about to be sick. Galadriel held tightly to his arm, almost supporting him.

"Dan!"

Elrohir was at his brother's side in a moment, slipping a strong arm through one of Elladan's. The elder twin's pack fell from slack fingers and for a horrible moment, Elrohir was afraid that his brother was going to pass out. A look of horror was stamped on the elf's fair features. Elrohir was frightened by the expression, and he was not the only one.

"Elladan!" Arwen and Celeborn had come alongside Elrohir and Galadriel. The young elleth called her older brother's name anxiously, reaching out and touching his shoulder, his back, his forehead; her light fingers seemed to ease the young elf lord's mind.

Legolas hovered at the edge of the family circle for a moment, his blond brows drawn together in anxiety. Elladan started to speak, his voice low, and the fair elf drew near to catch his words.

"We should have passed him. In the pass of the mountains. We should have passed him."

Elrohir's gray eyes were confused. He looked to his grandmother, but her face had become as unyielding as granite.

"We should have passed him…"

Arwen clutched at her elder brother's sleeve. "Passed who, Dan? What are you speaking of?" Her sweet voice was suddenly tight, and Legolas saw one of her white hands grope for the ring at her neck. The wood elf felt a sick surge of dread flood the pit of his stomach. He turned away suddenly. The elleth's actions spoke volumes to him. The tension in her face and voice revealed that she was worried. The clasp of her hand showed that she was worried for a particular man.

Why would she be worried over Estel if he were safe within Lothlorien's boundaries? Legolas ran a hand through his thick, golden hair. His mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. If Estel was not here, where was he…? A bubble of panic began to rise within him. The twins had not encountered him on the road from Imladris, and Legolas had certainly seen nothing of him.

"_Daernaneth,_" Elladan's voice cut through Legolas' turmoil. The blond elf turned back towards his friend, schooling his features so that he would not reveal his anxiety. Elladan's normally pale face had turned the color of a cloudy sky, but his eyes were steady and fixed upon Galadriel.

"We need to know what happened," the elder twin reached out and caught his grandmother's small hands in his large ones. "Can you help us?"

0-0-0-0

Elladan searched his grandmother's eyes pleadingly. He desperately needed to know what had happened to his little brother. Galadriel was gifted with foresight, as was Elrond. If she could tell him anything…

He could feel the hands of his siblings clutching at him, holding him. Elrohir had, he knew, realized that they spoke of Estel, and the younger twin could sense his brother's distress.

Galadriel's blue eyes were very grave, her mouth a thin line. Her icy gaze pierced first Elladan, then Elrohir. "Come with me," she said quietly. No one needed to ask whom she meant. The elf woman turned to depart, but was brought up short by the rather solid elven prince who remained in her path. A golden eyebrow rose upwards on her smooth forehead in surprise. She had indicated that Elladan and Elrohir were to follow her, but not the blond son of Thranduil. "You wish to accompany us, _Thranduilion_?" her voice was soft, but Elladan could hear the steel underlying her tone.

Legolas nodded shortly. Though Galadriel's question was certainly not intimidating, Elladan could see Legolas' fingers clenching and unclenching nervously.

"What you learn may not be to your liking," she warned.

A muscle jumped in Legolas' jaw, and Elladan thought he saw the prince's throat move convulsively. When he spoke, it sounded as though he were speaking through clenched teeth. "_Iston. Estel gwanor nin na._"

Galadriel's gaze softened. "Come, _ernil._"

"_Daernana…_" Arwen's voice began, but Galadriel cut her off.

"No." The blond elf woman turned to Elrond's child, her granddaughter and there was sympathy in her gaze, but her tone was uncompromising. "At this time, were something to have happened, I would not wish you to see it."

Elladan swallowed hard at his grandmother's words. Not only because of the implication that something might have happened to Estel, but because he knew where the ruler of Lothlorien was going to take them. He exchanged a meaningful look with Elrohir. The younger twin nodded slightly. He knew too.

The mirror.

Sweat broke out on Elladan's forehead. He fell into step behind his grandmother as she strode down the winding staircase that would lead to the forest floor. For Estel he would do anything, and Galadriel knew it.

But the mirror frightened him.

Elrohir squeezed his twin's shoulder, gray eyes flooded with concern.

The elder twin knew better than to pretend that he was fine. He wasn't, and Elrohir would not be fooled. His long fingers were already tapping against the side of his leg in a nervous cadence. He glared at them, but they ignored the order from his brain to cease.

"Dan," Elrohir's voice hissed in his pointed ear, too softly for either of the other elves to catch. "You do not have to look…"

"You do not know, Ro. I may. If I must, I will." He was a son of Elrond, and as such he too possessed that uncanny gift of foresight. He was not nearly as gifted as Elrond, but it was there. Lurking in the shadows. Being of an infinitely practical nature that preferred the present to the future, Elladan was not comfortable with his ability. Nor was he as sensitive to its presence as his twin, something for which he was eternally thankful. He had seen the weight of knowledge added to his father's shoulders, and knew that his twin had witnessed horrors with the 'gift'.

Why his grandmother's mirror frightened him was not a mystery. It showed not only what would be, but also what _could_ be. Galadriel had once seen what could have happened if Sauron's ring had not been cut from his hand.

According to Celeborn, she had not slept for many nights, and she would still not speak of what she had seen.

Galadriel's light steps were leading them through a secluded grove of the Mallorn trees. There was a clearing in the midst of the trees. Elladan saw his grandmother's golden head enter the clearing, closely followed by Legolas. Elrohir stepped after them. Elladan could feel the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Balling his hands into fists, he moved forward resolutely.

If he could help Estel, he would push back whatever discomfort he was feeling…

In the middle of the clearing stood a pedestal. There was a bowl upon the pedestal and the instant his gray eyes fell upon it Elladan could feel cold sweat trickle down the side of his face. Galadriel was already filling the bowl with water from a silver pitcher. Her slender finger beckoned.

0-0-0-0

Elrohir glanced at his twin out of the corner of his eye. He groaned inwardly. The dark-haired warrior's shoulders were stiff, the usually graceful lines of his body taut. Drops of sweat stood out on his pale face. In short, Elrond's firstborn was moments away from bolting.

Galadriel beckoned, and the younger twin saw Elladan steel himself to step forward. Not likely. A swift hand flashed out, catching hold of Elladan's bicep. Elrohir squeezed his brother's arm gently as he stepped forward himself. He saw Elladan open his mouth to protest, but did not give him a chance to form the words. If allowed, Elladan would shield all his siblings from whatever dangers he knew (or imagined) they would face. He would be the 'older brother' that protected all the others. Already, he took too much upon himself.

The mirror did not hold the same fear for Elrohir that it did for his elder brother. He was more accepting of the foresight that was the legacy of his father and grandmother. The gift could be very frightening at times, and very heavy to bear, and he thanked all the Valar most fervently that he did not have to carry the weight that his father did.

Three quick steps brought him to the edge of the bowl. Taking a deep breath, he placed his slender hands on the rim and bent over the still water. Dark hair fell on both sides of his face like black curtains, closing him off from the other beings around him.

Something stirred in the darkness of the water and Elrohir felt a shiver rush down his spine. Images began to spin before his eyes. The dark-haired elf's breath caught in his throat.

Estel.

The images were of Estel, in all stages of his life, as Elrohir had seen him grow. Tears blinded the elf and he blinked rapidly to keep them at bay. He could not afford them falling on the surface of the water.

More scenes flowed by, and these were not familiar to the twin. He saw Estel astride a horse that was most certainly not elven, though with bloodlines to envy nonetheless. He was older than when the twin had seen him last.

Estel kneeling before a man seated upon a black chair at the foot of a flight of stairs leading to a white throne…

Estel wearing full armor, his eyes hard as he led men into battle. Was it Estel? The boyish name did not seem to fit this Captain.

Estel weeping in helpless rage as he was forced to hide and listen as orcs tormented captives… Elrohir choked, but he could not tear his grey eyes away from the horrible visions of Mordor that flowed before him. A sick feeling twisted the dark-haired elf's stomach as he saw what his little brother had been forced to endure. His knuckles were turning white as his hands tightened around the rim of the bowl.

The twin saw his brother healed.

He saw Estel upon the road that would lead to Rivendell.

He saw the ranger dangling from a cliff wall with only the strength of his arms to stop him falling to his death. Elrohir's dark eyebrows knotted together in confusion. Estel was wounded. Badly wounded. The elf ground his teeth together in frustration. Something had happened to Estel in between Lothlorien and Rivendell, that much was obvious. But what? How had he been injured?

A shiver raced down the younger twin's spine as the images shifted again. Without asking, he knew that what he saw now was not something that had already occurred. This was something that had not yet come to pass.

Estel was held between two men, arms tightly bound behind him. Dark hair hung in greasy, dirty, bloody strands. The silver eyes were clouded with pain, but still fierce in his pale face. Bruises decorated most of his exposed skin. His leg, Elrohir saw with a surge of wrath, had been broken and splinted. The men that held his arms were dragging him forward across black stone. They were in an enormous room and Estel did not want to be brought wherever these men were intent upon taking him. There were others with them, following after Estel and his two guards, but their faces were not clear.

The men dropped suddenly to their knees, pulling Estel down with them. The wounded man had no chance to resist them, but he stubbornly kept his dark head upright. Unbowed, unbroken. Silver eyes blazed with the strength that was his legacy. Someone rose from the floor behind Estel and moved forward.

Elrohir gasped.

It was the human! The human they had met in the pass of the Misty Mountains! Elrohir felt his heart go cold. This man was responsible for Estel's condition. He knew that without a doubt. Horrible clarity shocked the elf down to his core. The human had already captured Estel when they had met him. They had left Estel in bondage! They had walked right by, perhaps only feet away from their brother when he was in desperate need of their help! The younger twin remembered how he had turned; how he had almost gone back…why hadn't they gone back?

White-hot rage was building in the slender elf's frame. His gray eyes blazed as he saw the human's mouth move, addressing someone. There he stood, his white hair bound back, single dark eye fixed on the ground at his feet instead of whatever it was they were all bowing to…

The perspective changed. Elrohir saw the being that the men had dragged Estel before.

0-0-0-0

Legolas paced slowly back and forth. Elrohir had been gazing into the water of the mirror for some time. The twin's dark hair had swung forward as he bent, hiding his face, but Legolas was fluent in the body language of his friends. The warrior's hands were slowly tightening around the rim of the bowl, knuckles turning white with the tension. A strangled gasp echoed in the deathly silence of the glade. Elladan jumped as though he had been slapped. With a grim face, the elf stepped forward, obviously intending to take Elrohir's place.

Galadriel stopped him with a glance, her blue eyes hard. Elladan fell back, but his face grew more and more grim.

A crawling, prickling sensation began to steal over the prince of Mirkwood. He shrugged, trying to ignore it.

It would not be ignored.

Legolas could feel the tension in his own shoulders beginning to build. Something was happening…something that Elrohir was seeing…

There was another choked gasp, and Legolas almost winced in pain. What was the son of Elrond reacting to?

"NO!!!" The shriek broke the stillness of the glade with the force of a battering ram. Elrohir jerked back from the mirror, his face blanched with horror, hands held up as if to ward off what he had seen.

"Ro!" Elladan leapt to catch hold of his twin, enfolding him swiftly in strong arms. Legolas darted forwards at the same time. The blond elf felt his heart clench into a tight ball and sink through his stomach as he looked into his friend's face. Elrohir's eyes were wide, but they were not seeing what was before them. He was looking directly into Legolas' face, but the fair prince knew without a doubt that Elrond's son was not seeing his friend's features.

Several minutes passed as the younger twin's slender body remained wrapped in the strong embrace of brother and friend. Legolas could feel Elrohir's ribs heaving, like he had just run a hard race.

Elladan's face was twisted with guilt as he called his brother's name, trying to bring the elf back to the present and out of whatever nightmare he had just witnessed.

As worried as he was for Elrohir, Legolas knew that the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was not due entirely for the younger twin's well being. What had happened to Strider? Given Ro's reaction, the prince of Mirkwood was not entirely sure he wanted to know…

"Ro!" Elladan shook his twin gently.

With a shudder and gasp, Elrohir turned his gray eyes to meet his brother's concerned gaze. "It hasn't happened yet," he said hoarsely.

For a moment, Legolas did not understand what Elrohir meant. Relief flooded Elladan's face. Comprehension almost made the prince go weak at the knees. Whatever was so horrible, whatever was so very terrible, it had not yet occurred. There was a chance that they could prevent it.

"Oh Valar…" Elrohir pulled himself free of his brother and friend and pushed both hands into his hair. Tears were burning in his eyes. "We have to leave. We have to leave now, Dan."

"What happened?" Elladan's eyes flew from his brother to his grandmother, but she shook her head. She did not know what Elrohir had faced in the mirror.

"We left him…" the broken cadence of Elrohir's voice was almost enough to stop Legolas' heart, but he had no idea of what the younger twin was speaking of.

"What do you mean?" Elladan stiffened slightly, apprehensive.

Elrohir spun on his heel to face his friend and brother and Legolas could see the anguish that was blazing from his gray eyes. "Dan we left him! He was hurt! He was caught…oh Valar…"

Legolas glanced at Elladan for illumination, but for once, the elder twin did not know what his brother was speaking of.

"The humans!" Elrohir's hands were tightening into fists. "We met them in the pass, and they had already taken him, Dan."

Legolas was even more confused, but significantly more alarmed. "What are you speaking of?" He looked to Elladan, only to see that now the elder twin fully comprehended what the younger was saying. His jaw had dropped, and Legolas could fully appreciate how similar the twins were in appearance for they wore exactly the same expression. Panic was bubbling within the prince. He did not know what was going on, but it wasn't good. Estel had been hurt…how badly? What did Elrohir mean when he said that they had 'left' him?

Elrohir turned to his grandmother, his jaw set. "Do you…_daernaneth_, do you know how much time we have before…before what I saw will take place?"

Legolas had never seen a female elf look graver. "Not long." Her blue eyes seemed to cloud for a moment, as if she were not seeing what was before her, but something else entirely. "He has slowed their progress, but they are moving even as we speak." With a suddenness that was startling, she focused again, gaze boring into her grandson. "If you do not intercept them before they cross the Anduin, you will not be able to save him."

The bubble of panic that had been building within him finally popped. Legolas stepped forward and caught hold of Elrohir's arm, turning the elf to face him. "What is happening?" he asked, teeth clenched together. "What has become of Estel?"

"He was captured in the pass of the Misty Mountains," Elladan said bitterly. "And we left him. We _passed_ the men that had attacked him…"

Legolas felt his fingers tightening on Elrohir's arm and forced himself to cease before he accidentally hurt his friend. He met the younger twin's eyes and knew with a sick dread that this was not the worst of what Elrohir had seen. "What else?" he choked out. "What have they done…" his voice was rising but he didn't care.

"It's not what they have done, but what they may do." Elrohir met Legolas' eyes and the prince blanched at the knowledge he could see gleaming there, like an unsheathed blade. Deadly and violent.

"They will take him to Mordor," Elrohir's voice was rough, barely more than a whisper of sound. "They will deliver him to the Eye."

Legolas released his hold abruptly and stepped back, dizzy. Mordor! The Eye! One did not need an imagination to know that the Eye would devise all sorts of horrible and sadistic tortures for the heir of Isildur. It was a fate that would make the bravest heart shrink with gut wrenching terror.

Blue eyes suddenly flared with rage. It was filling him, overriding the horror of evil. The prince of Mirkwood exchanged a meaning filled look with the twin sons of Elrond. As one, they strode from the glade, closely followed by Galadriel. They did not speak another word, nor did they need to. All knew what had to be done.

As they walked purposefully down the wooded pathway, all who saw them averted their eyes, for the wrath of elf lords hung about them, and they were fair and terrible to look upon.

Those who had captured Aragorn had to be stopped before they crossed the Anduin.

Then they would be made to pay for every cut, scrape, and bruise they had inflicted.

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_Iston. Estel gwanor nin na.---I know. Estel is my brother_

_Daernana/Daernaneth---Grandma/grandmother_

_Ernil---prince_

_0-0-0-0_

**Well, there it is.:) I hope everyone loved it and I will see you in about a week for another chapter.:) The next chapter WILL have Estel in it, by the way.**


	10. Paths Converge

**Um...I'm sorry? Oooo, that's not nearly good enough and I know it. sighs Multiple evil papers coincided in college and then my choir took off for Europe, and I _know_ that this is still horrible overdue without a good enough excuse. Sorry! begs forgiveness I promise that it's going to get finished now! I don't have anything else distracting me!:) Enjoy the chapter! **

**0-0-0-0**

Halith sat in the semi-gloom of the early morning, his dark eye fixed with unwavering intensity upon the crumpled figure of the ranger. His men were all asleep. More than an hour had passed since he had sent the watch to catch some rest while he guarded the captive.

The ranger had not moved, and if Halith were not watching so carefully he would have missed the telltale rise and fall of Strider's ribcage and assumed that the man was dead.

The former corsair's lip curled slightly. He wished. Halith propped his elbows on his knees and set his chin on folded hands. Embers of last night's fire cast an eerie glow over his weathered features, deepening the already prominent wrinkles.

He had to revisit his plans. He hated that. Plans that were revisited had the tendency to unravel. However, he did not see that he had much of a choice. Strider's recent escape demonstrated that.

Originally, Halith had planned to take the old forest road through Mirkwood and then once clear of the trees' shadow turn his steps South towards Mordor. His mouth tightened unpleasantly. He hadn't wanted to turn South before Mirkwood because he would then be running into the lands that fell under the shadow of Dol Guldor. The Mouth had assured him that if he were to come to the tower he would receive aid…but Halith did not trust the Mouth. Certainly he might receive aid…and he might receive a knife between his ribs! These were twisted creatures of the most dark evil. Treachery was not beneath them. He could very well envision his sudden and unexplainable death while another took Strider on to the Eye and claimed the reward.

The aged villain cursed softly as he dragged a gnarled hand over his face. He didn't have a choice now. When Strider escaped he had been trying to get to somewhere, hadn't he? Why, oh why hadn't he remembered before now that the ranger was friendly with woodelves? Why had he not remembered that the cursed woodelves lived in the shadows of the massive oaks of Mirkwood? There was no way he could take the ranger under those branches and hope to walk out on the other side.

Halith stroked his chin thoughtfully. It would be best to stay on the West side of the Anduin until he was sure they were far enough South that the elves would not be a problem. Crossing at the ford where the Gladden flowed to meet Anduin would probably be the best option.

The former corsair calculated the distance for a moment. Two days would probably bring them to the ford. Perhaps a little less if they pushed hard. Halith slowly pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the soreness of his misused muscles. The sun was rising, tinting the Eastern sky a bloody red. It was time to get going.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn knew that the pain was there. It was waiting to spring out upon him the moment he opened his eyes. Therefore, he reasoned, if he kept his eyes closed…

Unfortunately, the pain decided that the ranger was taking too long to awake. Fiery ribbons of agony raced up Aragorn's leg.

Silver eyes flew open even as he gritted his teeth together to keep from crying out. As if waiting upon some hidden signal, every nerve in his body decided to register at that particular moment. Aragorn counted to ten slowly, pressing his cheek against the forest floor. His arms ached from the strain of carrying his own weight and his shoulder was badly wrenched. Cuts and scrapes of all shapes and sizes decorated his hands and the ranger found himself unaccountably annoyed that he could feel the pain of those tiny scrapes so acutely when his broken leg throbbed as it did.

Aragorn took a moment to assess his position. The sun was just starting to poke golden rays into the sky. He was lying on his side on the ground, and he was bound once more, just as he had been before. For the space of a moment, he fought a wave of despair. As quickly as it had come it was replaced with something stronger, fiercer.

A bright, hot wrath burned in his heart. He had not crawled through the hellish pits of Mordor only to be dragged back there! Silver eyes raked the campsite with a scornful gaze. All were asleep except Halith. The old man was just rising to his feet when Aragorn's eyes fell on him.

Halith's single dark eye met Aragorn's silver ones. As the heat of the ranger's gaze burned into him, the former corsair actually flinched. Quickly, he turned away from his captive and began kicking the men awake.

0-0-0-0

Halith cursed himself as he took out his anger on the nearest peon. "Get up!" he roared, turning to another. "Up, you lazy slugs!" The villain kept his gaze away from the ranger deliberately. Curse the man! Halith drew in a deep breath as his men began to rise and prepare to depart. What was it that frightened him so? He remembered how it had happened before once. A new strength seemed to suddenly pour from Strider's voice, from his eyes. It was…

Halith pushed both hands into his thick, white hair. He couldn't describe it, even to himself. Why was it so frightening? Perhaps because it reminded him of something…

Unbidden, the image of an elf rose in the former corsair's mind eye. Blond hair bound back in braids, blue eyes burning with that same indefinable strength. The elf stood calmly; facing a charging group of twenty-five men. Halith swallowed hard as he remembered. The elf had killed them all, with almost no effort. The men could not even touch him.

That was what Strider reminded him of.

Just remembering the elf caused Halith to glance almost fearfully over his shoulder at his captive.

The ranger was bruised, dirty and bound. Dried blood was caked on his hands where they had been torn by the rocks as he climbed. His dark hair hung in sweaty, greasy tangles around a face drawn with pain. The silver eyes were closed and Halith shook himself. It had been a trick of the morning's faint light. There was nothing about this man that even remotely resembled the deadly beauty of the elves.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn drew in a deep breath, his eyes closed against the crippling pain. He needed to be able to think clearly if he was going to plan an escape, and pain did not help his thought process one bit.

A rough hand on his arm caused the ranger's eyes to fly open once more. Halith was kneeling beside him, one wrinkled hand steadying himself. The other clutched a dagger. For a sick moment Aragorn thought Halith had discovered the weapon tucked behind his belt…but no. The dagger held by the former corsair was nothing like the delicate craft of Aragorn's own. He breathed an inward sigh of relief.

Halith slashed with the blade, severing the ropes that bound Aragorn's legs. The ranger winced as blood flowed once more. His broken limb throbbed even more strongly with the return of circulation. He wondered briefly what the old man was planning, but swiftly discovered as Halith caught hold of his elbow and jerked upwards. Somehow, the villain pulled Aragorn to his feet. Even more amazing, Aragorn did not immediately topple over once he was there. Instead, he balanced his weight on his good leg, wincing as pins and needles prickled down the length of his limb.

Without a word, Halith jerked his head and two of his men stepped forwards to seize Aragorn's upper arms. The ranger could feel the corner's of his lips twisting despite his pain. "Am I so frightening that I need to be bound _and_ manhandled?"

The blow was expected, but still hurt. Aragorn shook his head dazedly, seeing some fairly colorful lights bursting in a strangely beautiful display. He realized with a small portion of his brain that his bonds were being cut, but his amazement was lost in the dizzy swirling of his consciousness trying to beat a hasty retreat.

Halith jammed a thick, tall stick down beside him. It was roughly the same size and shape as the one Aragorn had been using as a crutch. The dark-haired man barely had time to assimilate what his silver eyes were showing him before Halith drew the ropes tight once more. Now Aragorn was bound to the crude crutch, his left arm pulled out full length, wrist and elbow tied to the wood. His right hand was also tied. The rope was drawn tight around his wrist, securing it at the same position of his left elbow.

The ranger drew in a sharp breath, earning him a nasty smile from the corsair. Swiftly, he adopted a pained expression. Let the corsair think that he had been hurt by the tightness of the ropes.

Halith bent to tie a short tether from the bottom of the crutch to Aragorn's left ankle, keeping him from possibly using the crutch as a club. The old man straightened with a grim smile, running a hand through his thick white hair. "You want to use your limbs so much? Fine. You can walk with the rest of us. My boys were tired of carting you anyway."

Aragorn fought to keep his face expressionless. It was hard. Halith had a good idea, he was forced to admit. Walking with his leg in the condition that it was would leave him exhausted as well as in a constant state of agony. Bound the way he was would ensure that a normal man would have no chance of escaping.

As Halith turned and signaled his men to move out, the ranger had to press his lips together to keep a triumphant smile from creeping across his bearded cheeks.

He was not most men. Amongst his many talents was an ability that not many were aware of.

When he amongst the Rohirrim he had the misfortune to fall from a rearing horse. Two ribs had been broken and the thumb of his right hand had been dislocated. When everything had healed, the ranger had discovered that he could dislocate his thumb at will.

Silver eyes glanced down at the ropes binding is wrist to the crutch as he stumped forwards. The ropes were tied tightly enough that even with a dislocated thumb it would be difficult to free himself. But it would be possible. Just possible.

0-0-0-0

To one who was not looking for them, they were invisible. No ear could have heard their passing.

Quick and light, the elves seemed to fly over the ground. None spoke. Beauty and grace combined with a deadly wrath made them terrible. Their fair faces were grim. The eerie silence that hung over them was broken only by the measured sound of their breathing.

Elladan and Elrohir led the group of elves, their long dark hair streaming behind them as they ran. Gray eyes burned cold in both faces.

Legolas ran behind the twins. Though there was no real similarities between the woodland elf and the sons of Elrond, if a bystander were to look into their eyes they would be struck by the identicalness of all three.

Of course, there were no bystanders, and if there were, they would not only have no time to see into the elves eyes; a quick glance at the fair beings would let them know that they had no desire to be anywhere within a hundred miles of these. The aura that surrounded the twins and the heir of Mirkwood spoke of violence and death on a highly painful scale.

Behind the elven prince ran a troupe of the Galadhrim. The Lady of Light had sent them. They remembered Elrond's foster son kindly, and if their gaze did not burn with the same rage that lighted the twins' and Legolas', it was a very close second.

0-0-0-0

_ Had to hurry. _

Elladan could feel the words pounding through his skull with the force of a battering ram. No matter how fast he seemed to run it wasn't fast enough. They had to intercept Estel's captors before they crossed the Anduin. If they didn't…

The cold sweat of fear broke out across the young elf lord's forehead. Too late, Galadriel had said. It would be too late. They could not be too late!

Running beside his brother, Elrohir's forehead was creased with anxiety. His lips formed words over and over, though no sound reached even the sensitive ears of the elves that surrounded him.

_Hold on, Estel. Hold on. We are coming…_

0-0-0-0

Aragorn sank slowly to the ground, trying not to cry out. His teeth ground together with the effort of remaining silent. Honestly, in all the time he had wandered the world, he could not remember a time when he had been in more pain...and coherent. The brief flicker of a smile tugged at the ranger's lips. He _could_ however, remember times when he had been in more pain and barely conscious.

Silver eyes flickered to Halith and hardened.

Strange, but that time had been caused by the former corsair as well.

Night was closing in around the men, and they were swiftly setting up their camp. Aragorn lay still as his hands were cut from the crutch and rebound, silver eyes half closed. The man retying his hands snorted with contempt. The ranger had to force himself not to roll his eyes as his captor turned away. It was best if the men looked on him as too weak and tired to scheme. Blatant riling might persuade them that he was more lively than he looked and needed an extra beating. He needed to lull them into a sense of security before he tried escaping again.

Aragorn winced as he shifted, trying to arrange his bound and battered limbs in a way that was less than excruciating. Timing would be crucial. Dislocated joints tended to swell if they were not fixed quickly. If he popped his thumb, he would have a very short amount of time before his hand swelled too much to be able to squeeze out of the ropes.

When they forded the river would be the best location. Aragorn shut his eyes with a sigh. It would make things _much_ easier if Halith were to take the old forest road. However, he knew that luck was not going to be on his side. They were already turning South, away from the road. Halith knew that there were elves living in the shadows of Mirkwood's oaks, and he was not an idiot. He would not even cross the Anduin before he was certain that they were out of the reach of the woodelves.

The dark-haired ranger resisted making a sour face. Intelligent villains made things so much harder than they should be.

No, Halith would most likely cross the Anduin where it met the Gladden. Aragorn felt the muscles in his jaw tense. The corsair would lead them into the shadow of Dol Guldor. A land taken by the presence of the Enemy. Bile rose in the ranger's throat and he swallowed hard. He would have only one more chance to escape.

The ford where the Gladden met the Anduin lay just before the river widened and deepened drastically. It was the last place where it could be crossed without the help of a boat. The water would be fairly deep, the current not overbearing, but strong. If he slipped his ropes there, it would be an easy matter to let the river carry him South.

Aragorn sighed softly and squeezed his eyes shut. The chances of this working were so infinitesimally small. This was, as far as he knew, his only hope. His brothers would come searching for him when they realized that he was no longer in Lothlorien, but they would have no reason to hurry towards the Golden Wood. The twins enjoyed traveling together and were apt to take their time when there were only the two of them. He could not bank on their finding him, especially if Halith succeeded in taking him across the Anduin.

A shudder shook his battered body. If he did not escape, he hoped that his brothers would _not_ find him. He did not want them anywhere near Dol Guldor.

Though it was almost impossible, Aragorn willed himself to sleep. He was going to need all the rest he could get.

In the space between sleeping and waking, the ranger could have sworn he heard Elrohir telling him to hold on. Though he quickly slipped away into the dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted, a part of him clung to the voice of his brother like a frightened child waking from a nightmare and clinging to the hand of a beloved adult. Only in his case, the nightmare was the reality.

0-0-0-0

A second day passed, much like the one before. Halith drove his men hard, forcing them to eat while walking and not allowing for more than a five minute rest. The light was all but gone when they finally halted. The area in which they traveled had long given way from plains to woods and Aragorn felt his heart leap into this throat as he realized where they had come to rest. Though the last shreds of rose colored clouds were already deepening into the dark blue of night, the ranger could see the twinkle of light on the water of _two_ rivers. He could hear the rush of the Gladden and the chuckle of the Anduin. They had reached the ford.

Halith was barking orders. They would rest here tonight, then ford the rivers in the morning.

As he was pushed roughly to the ground, Aragorn deliberately twisted himself so that he fell on his stomach, the crutch underneath him. Though the fall winded him, it also hid his hands from his guard for the crucial second and covered the pop of his joint separating.

The human man roughly pulled the dark-haired ranger into a sitting position and Aragorn kept his stubbly face creased in lines of discomfort. Inwardly, he was laughing.

Who cared if he was in constant agony?

So what if he was exhausted and felt like he didn't have the strength to breath, much less escape?

His plan was working so far. If he was able to slip his ropes now…he tugged his right arm gently, testing the ropes. They were tight, but he could feel his wrist slide a little with the new room.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he began the lengthy process of working his hand free. Aragorn kept his eyes trained on the men surrounding him as he worked, making sure that they did not notice his attempts. Halith was staring into the depths of the fire, and the others were mostly concentrating on the roasting of the rabbits they had managed to catch rather than the heavily injured and bound prisoner. Every so often Halith would shoot a piercing gaze at his captive over the dancing of the flames, but he would only see the silver eyes closed halfway, and the ranger's face twisted in pain.

The pain was not hard to pretend. After a full day's travel, Aragorn was in significant discomfort because of his leg, his shoulder still throbbed, his bruises were aggravated by lying on the hard ground, and now, to top everything off, he was slowly removing all the skin from his right hand as he dragged it through the incredibly tight loop of the hemp rope.

But it came. Without removing his gaze from his enemy, Aragorn untied the rope with nimble (somewhat skinned) fingers and looped it around his wrist. By the time Halith looked toward him again, his right hand was resting on the crutch once more, appearing to be still tied there. Aragorn watched the corsair through lowered eyelids, feigning sleep. The old man's mouth thinned somewhat as he looked on the ranger, but he turned away.

A glow filled the younger man's heart like a very strong wine. The villain had not noticed anything. He had not noticed! Though he was sorely tempted, not a flicker of a smile touched his unshaven cheeks. There would be time for a triumphant grin when he had actually escaped, he reminded himself.

Through the dark silhouettes of the trees Aragorn could see the Gladden river rushing by and was seized by an odd sense of foreboding. This would not be the first time one of his line had attempted to use this river to escape evil. Would he fare better than Isildur?

0-0-0-0

_"Daro."_

The command was barely a whisper on the night wind, but every elf heard it and obeyed. They slid to a halt on the moonlit shores of the Gladden, where it met the Anduin. Across the river's wide, silver, surface a fire gleamed, almost hidden in the thick foliage.

Elladan looked back over the company of elves. The light of the moon was reflected in his gray eyes. _"Bedumet minui_," he said tersely, nodding to his brother and Legolas. The elves of Lothlorien nodded, though somewhat reluctantly. They knew that Lord Elrond's sons and the Prince of Mirkwood wished to have the first strike against the captors of their kinsman and friend. All could understand that. They were also, however, the kinsmen of the Lady Galadriel and she would not be happy if one of her grandchildren returned to Lothlorien fatally wounded.

Not, that such a thing was likely to happen. The battle prowess of the twins was well known.

Elladan locked eyes with his brother and friend. The three elves shared a look of complete understanding. Across the river was Aragorn. They stepped into the waters without a further thought.

0-0-0-0

Halith was irritable.

He didn't know why, and it did nothing to increase his goodwill. Something was bothering him.

The corsair stood and began to pace, his knotted hands clasped behind his back, ignoring the uneasy glances of his subordinates. Let them think what they wanted. Without even being fully aware of it, his feet were carrying him across the campsite, towards his prisoner. He wanted to check on the ranger, make sure that the ropes that bound him were secure…

A sixth sense stopped him.

The corsair was frozen midstep; his neck hairs lifting in horrible anticipation. He had heard nothing, seen nothing, but spun on his booted heel anyway, his single eye roving wildly across the darkness that lay outside the fire's warm circle.

His men jumped in response to their leader's sudden movements. All were on their feet in seconds; two catching hold of the ranger's arms and holding him fast. Halith could hear Strider's gasp of pain as he was jerked to his feet but it was the least of his concerns.

What followed was a horrible feeling of déjà vu. Into the fire's warm circle of light stepped an elf lord, his fair face grim and terrible. He was followed closely by his brother. Halith swallowed hard. These were the same elves that had crossed his path in the Misty Mountains. The sons of the Lord of Rivendell. A swift glance killed any small hope that this was simply another great coincidence.

No warmth touched the icy gray of their eyes. No compassion graced their delicate features. Their tunics were wet, and water dripped from the ends of their intricate braids. That meant, (Halith realized with bile rising in his throat) that they had just crossed the river. They had been eager to reach him if they were willing to cross the river at night. More ominous still, they each held a drawn sword. The firelight gleamed along the length of the naked blades and Halith was suddenly aware that his life was hanging by a very thin thread.

With monumental effort the old man kept his face from expressing his dismay, but he could hear startled oaths behind him and a long sigh that could only have come from Strider. This, the former corsair knew, was very, very bad. It was, however, not as bad as what came next.

Another elf moved into the light of the fire. His golden hair was dark with water, but still stood out in sharp contrast to the dark elves on either side of him. Blue eyes every bit as cold as their gray ones graced his elven face. Twin daggers were held loosely in long fingers. His icy gaze met Halith's single eye. For an instant, Halith could not breathe. Sharp, fiery pain pierced the mass of scar that had once been his right eye. Phantom pain, he knew. A memory of the last time he had faced the fair being.

Worse, he realized as his stomach sank to somewhere near his toes, the elf recognized him too.

0-0-0-0

Slender shoulders stiffened abruptly. Legolas slim body almost shook with the force of his wrath. "You!"

Elladan and Elrohir cast him curious glances out of the corners of their eyes. The heir of Mirkwood ground his teeth audibly. "Do you not know him?" he hissed, never taking his eyes from the former corsair. A cold flame was kindling in the blue orbs. His blade glittered in the firelight as he raised it and pointed at the aged human. "Do you remember _me_, human?" The lethal whisper was enough to make the man shudder slightly. "Do you remember the elf you left for dead?" A cold, mirthless laugh rolled from the prince's lips. "Do you remember who took your eye?"

A muscle in Elladan's jaw jumped as he realized exactly who it was that held Estel hostage. Elrohir hissed, snakelike as his eyes narrowed dangerously.

0-0-0-0

Halith knew in that moment that the thread holding his life had just snapped. He would not be able to maneuver his way out of this situation. Time seemed to slow. The corsair could feel himself pull his sword free of its sheath, but reality had taken on an almost dreamlike quality. The elves were coming. His life could be measured in seconds. The corsair spun to face his prisoner. If nothing else, he would make sure that Strider joined him in the last journey…

His men had already released the ranger. They were fleeing into the night. Halith knew they wouldn't get far. He leaped forward and caught Strider's shoulder, pulling him close with his left hand as his right drew the sword back. He heard the gasp of pain as the ranger's bad leg was jostled, but there was something else too. A flicker in the silver eyes as Halith closed in. A gleam of deadly intent.

Something moved, too fast for Halith to see clearly, and suddenly there was a piercing pain that was pushing through his chest into his heart. The shock of the pain threw off his aim but did not sway him from his purpose. His sword pierced his enemy, sliding into the younger body with a sickening sound.

"Die!" he commanded harshly, eye blazing as he clutched at the ranger. The word came out stained with blood. He could taste the blood on his lips. Only then did the corsair look down.

The handle of an elven blade protruded from his chest. Strider's hand was gripping it tightly. Numbly, the single, dark eye returned to meet the gaze of the silver two. They were clear, and hard. The face that held them was creased in agony. Strider leaned forward as the world started to go black. His lips were moving, forming the last words Halith would hear before his soul fled the realm of Arda.

"You first."

0-0-0-0

Legolas leapt forwards the moment Halith turned towards Aragorn. He could not get there fast enough. He saw the corsair seize his friend; saw the sword plunge into the ranger's body. The prince's hand was reaching out to seize Halith's shoulder and jerk him away, but before he could catch hold of it the corsair crumpled to the ground. Legolas skidded to a halt, shocked. He stared at the villain open-mouthed, slowly taking in the glazed look of the single eye, and the crimson stain spreading in a circle around the hilt of a dagger buried in his chest.

Blue eyes traveled quickly from the corsair to the ranger.

Aragorn leaned heavily upon a crude crutch thrust under his left arm. In fact, his arm appeared to be tied to the wood at the elbow and wrist. His right hand was clutching feebly at the sword thrust into his side. Legolas felt a sick lurch in his stomach as he realized it was not the light of the fire that was turning his friend's hand red.

In the second he halted, the twins had passed him and caught hold of their brother. "Estel," Elladan whispered. "_gohena__…_"

"Do it," Aragorn's voice was strained.

The elder twin took hold of the sword's hilt, wet with the blood of his brother, and drew it out of the ranger.

Aragorn gasped, but did not cry out. His body collapsed into the steady arms of Elrohir. Elladan threw the weapon aside as if it were an unclean thing. The twins lowered their younger brother to the ground and Legolas quickly stepped forward to cut the crutch away from Aragorn's arm.

"Ah, Strider," the fair elf winced as he saw the rough abrasions the rope had left on the ranger's sun browned skin. He could hear the cries of the Halith's men in the dark woods surrounding the camp. The Ghaladhrim were not about to permit them to escape. Legolas turned his attention back to the man lying before him. "_Mellon nin._"

Elrohir had torn a strip from his own tunic and passed it to Elladan. The elder twin swiftly cut the remains of Aragorn's shirt away, revealing the wound Halith had left. Elrohir's makeshift bandage was pressed over the gash. Legolas looked into the faces of the twins, hoping to see hope, but was chilled at the grimness of their fair features. As for himself, he was horrified over his friend's state. The gash was terrible, yes, but even as limited as Legolas' healing experience was, he knew that it was not immediately fatal if the bleeding could be stopped. Halith had not struck as truly as he'd assuredly hoped to.

But Estel was weak. Far weaker than normal. The wound was a bad one if the ranger were in perfect health. Blue eyes drifted over Aragorn's bruised and battered form, taking in the leg, the many scrapes, and the horrific state of the human's clothing. The shirt Elladan had just cut away was little more than a filthy, bloodstained rag.

Legolas felt his fingers tremble as he stroked dirty hair away from Aragorn's face. The ranger's head rested in Elrohir's lap, and the elf was bent over his brother in a way that allowed his dark hair to fall forward, hiding his expression.

"Estel," Legolas whispered. "You can not do this." The slender fingers of the elf hastily closed over the thicker digits of the human. "If you honestly think that I would come to see you after_ twenty-five years_ absence only to have you die in front of me you are sadly mistaken."

The silver eyes flicked towards Legolas and a grin tugged at the corners of the ranger's mouth. "Not…the way I …I would have wanted," he whispered, then grimaced as Elladan tried to put more pressure on the wound.

Elrohir's arms tightened convulsively as he felt his brother's body start to go slack. "Estel, do not even think about it." The young elf lord's voice was tight with fear. "If you die right now I will never forgive you!"

Blood was seeping past the cloth Elladan was holding in place and the elder twin hastily tore some of his own tunic to replace the soaked strip. "No." his voice was somewhere between a plea and a command. "Estel, do not dare to die. Do you hear me? How could I tell _Ada_?"

Despite the growing pallor of his face and obvious pain, an amused grimace tweaked the ranger's features. "Do you…think…" Aragorn rasped, voice barely audible "that I…have…that much…of a choice?"

"Yes," Legolas replied decisively. "I know you, _mellon__ nin_." Tenderness softened his anxious gaze. "You are stubborn enough to argue with Mandos."

Aragorn's battered frame shook with a faint chuckle. Blood flecked his lips. Legolas nearly whimpered at the sight of the crimson smears.

The silver eyes were flickering. Elrohir choked as his little brother's head lolled alarmingly against his arms.

"Estel!" Legolas stroked his friend's forehead gently. "If you do not fight I will…I will…"the prince cast about in his mind desperately for something to threaten the ranger with.

Aragorn's body relaxed against Elrohir's lap and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"I will woo Arwen!" Legolas blurted. He immediately regretted his words as two pairs of sharp gray eyes snapped to him. Dark eyebrows drew together threateningly and Legolas cringed. This was probably _not_ how Aragorn would have liked to inform his brothers that he was interested in the delicate elf maiden…

For a long moment there was no response. Then, the silver eyes slowly focused on Legolas' anxious features. "…What…?"

"You heard me," the blond elf said firmly, ignoring the twins' evil looks of doom. Slowly, he brushed his fingers over the pale patch of skin that adorned Aragorn's left forefinger. "I saw the ring, Estel. She wears it about her neck on a chain."

For a long, extended moment, the silver eyes stared into Legolas' blue ones. "Do…do not worry…_mellon__ nin_." White teeth flashed against the bearded cheeks. "I did…I did not love her…for so many years…only to give her over…to _you_."

For a second the fair elf could have laughed. He could have been relieved. Then blood trickled in a shockingly dark stream from Aragorn's lips…the silver eyes rolled back into his head and he would not answer again no matter how loudly the sons of Elrond or the Prince of Mirkwood called…

0-0-0-0

_Daro-halt_

_Bedumet minui-We will go first_

_0-0-0-0_

**Sorry once more for the extremely horrible long delay. There should only be one, and at the most two more chapter to this story and the next one should be up within a week. crosses fingers**


	11. To Live or Die

** I could apologize profusely for being so late, but by this point no one would believe me anymore.:( I really am sorry though! I swear! Anyhoo, since I left the ranger in an unpleasant situation (and really, when don't I?) Let's go see what happens.:) Oh, and at the end of the chapter there will be a surprise. ;)**

**0-0-0-0**

He sat and waited.

The hall where he was seated was at once very grand, and yet comfortable. It reminded him of the Hall of Fire in the last Homely House. This similarity eased him, yet he could not have understood why he made it, because as far as he could tell, nothing looked like anything he had seen before. Perhaps it was just the feeling he received…

The chair he was sitting in was very comfortable too. Aragorn leaned back into the cushions that seemed to shape themselves to exactly his body shape and sighed. Belatedly, he realized that he was probably going to get this wonderful chair dirty, yet he was too comfortable to care overly much.

Aragorn shifted in surprise, his eyes widening. He looked down at himself quickly. He was _comfortable._ No pain whatsoever. Slowly, he stretched his left leg. The limb responded perfectly. What was more, the ranger suddenly realized that it would not be possible to dirty the furniture for _he_ was no longer dirty. In bemused wonder, Aragorn raised his hands and started at his inexplicably clean palms; turned them over and found the back of his hands as clean as the front. Moreover, all the cuts and abrasions he had collected during his cliff face climb had disappeared. The skin covering his hands was whole and healthy.

A dark eyebrow crept up his forehead in an uncanny and completely unconscious imitation of his father, the Lord Elrond.

All the dirt, sweat and blood of the past few days of his life had gone. The pain was completely absent as well, and until it was gone, Aragorn did not realize just how much agony he had been in. The ranger stood, marveling at the strength of his leg. He looked down at it and was further surprised to see his trousers whole. Turning his attention to his clothing he soon discovered that he was most certainly _not_ wearing the clothes he had been an hour ago as he lay bleeding in his brothers' arms.

No blood, firstly.

Secondly, the loose-sleeved shirt he was wearing was intact. The one he had been wearing when stabbed was missing its sleeves.

It crossed his mind that normally he would be at the very least alarmed by his sudden change of condition, and (more likely) alert and tense seeking a way out and…

He shook his dark head. Some sixth sense let him know that he was in no danger. In fact, he felt the closest to complete peace since the night he had held Arwen in his arms and she had taken a ring from him to string around her neck.

A vision of the lovely elf maiden filled his mind, but was abruptly replaced by Legolas' anxious features. The sound of the prince's voice was harsh with fear. "_Estel! If you do not fight…_"

Aragorn released his breath in a long sigh. He pushed a hand through his shoulder length hair absent mindedly, the other resting at his hip. This was a fine mess.

"So you have figured it out?"

At the sound of the voice, Aragorn turned, surprised but not afraid. He was faced with a …being…leaning against the chair he had just risen from, arms folded across its chest. Aragorn could find no better way to describe it than 'being'. It was at the same time human, elven and dwarven, though completely unlike all three. Ancient wisdom radiated from the dark eyes, but a smile curved the lips into a warm, welcoming expression.

Aragorn bowed deeply, his hair falling on either side of his face like curtains. "My lord Mandos."

To his surprise, the Vala bowed in return; gravely, and not as if he were mocking the human. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn." As the being straightened, a secret smile turned the corners of his mouth and twinkled in the depths of the ancient eyes. "You did not answer my question."

Aragorn stared blankly. "My lord?"

The smile bloomed. "You have figured it out? Where you are and what has happened?"

Aragorn nodded, his face closed, eyes downcast. "I died."

Mandos shrugged. "Yes and no."

A dark eyebrow dragged itself up Aragorn's forehead. "I beg your pardon? Did I die or didn't I?"

"You did."

"Oh."

"But then again, you are not exactly gone yet."

Aragorn could not suppress a small groan of frustration.

Mandos chuckled merrily. "Forgive me, dear one. As one who lives forever, I often forget that mortals become weary with too much mystery." The Vala stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "The blow you were given _could_ have killed you. Your body has been weakened by pain and a grueling journey. However, you are reluctant to pass on and," the eyes twinkled again, "your line has been gifted with a strong will."

Aragorn glanced around swiftly. "This is not your hall?"

The Vala actually laughed out loud. "No, child!" The hand that had rested on the ranger's shoulder waved in a dismissing gesture to the comfortable surroundings. "This is but a resting place. You would not enter my halls at any rate, but pass beyond the circles. Your final destination is a wonderful place and (I assure you) much more interesting than this entry room. Aragorn," Mandos shook his head as his shoulders shook with mirth. "Would you really _want_ to spend all of eternity here?"

Aragorn chuckled himself. He had enjoyed peace and comfort, but he knew that if he were forced to spend any great length of time in such surrounding he would have gone mad with boredom.

"For lack of a better term," Mandos continued, "this could be called a passage. You came in here," he pointed to one end of the hall and Aragorn was surprised to see a door. He had not noticed one there before. "and if you choose to continue on, you will exit there." Aragorn turned to the opposite end of the hall and was again facing a door that he could have sworn was not there before he started talking to the Vala. "Some do not even see this place. They are very eager to continue on." The ancient eyes darkened with grief for a brief moment. "Some stay here for a very long time. They cannot go back, but they are not ready to go forward." A brief flash of anger darkened the eyes further. "Some are in desperate need of the peace they find here because of things that have happened to them."

The ranger licked his lips nervously. "_Can_ I go back? You said that I was not dead…"

"You," Mandos tapped Aragorn's chest lightly with a forefinger, "have a choice. As I said the blow you received _could_ have killed you. It still could. All you have to do is decide that you do not want to return to life and continue on." The Vala paused, surveying the expression on the human's bearded features. "Or," he continued gently, "you may return the way you came. You have a choice, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. A choice to live…or die."

His first impulse was to immediately choose. Of course he would live! Of course he would return! Of course.

But he did not say anything for a long moment. Silver eyes flickered to the door that would lead him on. What lay beyond that door? There was only one way to find out. One boot actually edged forwards. A wonderful land, Mandos had said. The other boot shifted as well.

"_Estel!_"

Aragorn froze, remembering the anguished voice of one of his closest friends. He could see Legolas' face as the prince leaned over him, anxiety radiating from blue eyes. "_How could I tell Ada?_" Elladan had asked. He could remember Elrohir's hands trembling as they smoothed the dark, wavy hair from his little brother's forehead.

If he died, his brothers would have to carry the news home. His father would be grieved. Arwen would hear of it…

Arwen. The very thought of her hurt and grieving almost made him ill.

Silver eyes met dark. Mandos' eyes bored into Aragorn. He felt more vulnerable than ever before in his life; as though all his secrets were being laid open. The ancient eyes could see all his plans, all his hopes, all his dreams, all his failures and faults. Strangely, Aragorn felt comforted. Here was not someone from whom he would ever have to hide anything from, even if he could. The ranger gazed steadily back.

Mandos smiled. "Your decision?"

Aragorn chuckled. "You already know."

"Yes. But I enjoy conversing."

Aragorn nodded, as though he completely understood. "I am going back." The moment the words left his lips, he sighed. He knew he had made the right decision. Knew it…and yet he was so tired. So very tired. He wanted to rest. The pain of his journey might have disappeared, but what he had gone through was enough to exhaust mind and body. He sank back into the chair slowly. "I am going back," he repeated. "but I believe that I would like to rest for a while first."

Mandos nodded. "You are wise beyond your years, child."

The ranger opened his mouth to protest but Mandos forestalled him with an upraised palm. "Please," the Vala chuckled. "Elrond is barely of an age to comment on. Compared to him you are a babe in arms."

Aragorn rolled his eyes, but could not prevent a smile from tweaking the corners of his mouth. "I am cursed with the association of immortal beings."

Mandos also smiled, though his ancient eyes remained solemn. "Tis true, son of Arathorn. All your life."

The bearded man settled himself more comfortably in the chair. His eyelids were becoming heavy. He knew without asking that the sleep he would drift into would be deep and dreamless; that he would awake completely refreshed and in the company of his brothers. He blinked, trying to stay awake for a few more moments. "My lord…will I remember any of this?"

The Vala knelt in front of the ranger, looking up into Aragorn's heavy eyes. His eyes were kind and his tone gentle. "No, dear one. You will only remember me when next we meet."

Aragorn struggled to stay awake. He wanted to ask another question, even if he wouldn't remember the answer. "What will I be?"

Mandos touched the strip of pale skin where once Barahir had been. "You will be a legend," he said quietly. "Your name will be remembered for years to come. The steel core that is your birthright will become the strong foundation that the kingdom of Gondor will rest on." He smiled sadly. "The road you have ahead of you is long, Aragorn and hard. You will face the same temptation that led to Isildur's destruction…but you will not be felled by it."

His eyes were closed. Already Mandos voice was fading. With an effort, Aragorn forced his sleep-clumsy lips to form his last question.

0-0-0-0

"I will not disappoint my father and brothers?"

Mandos' eyes shone with tenderness as he gazed on the ranger. He knew that the human had already slipped away. Aragorn could not hear him now, but the Vala answered anyway, one hand reaching out to stroke dark hair away from the still-young face.

"You could not disappoint them if you tried, Estel."

Mandos straightened. For a moment, he remained, watching the ranger slumber. The expression on his ageless face was as affectionate as if he were a father watching his small son.

The Vala sighed. Much as he would like to, he could not stay and watch over the ranger. He had many things to attend to, and Aragorn would be completely safe from any physical and mental harm right where he was. "Rest easy," he whispered, as he turned to go.

He had not told the ranger how long the road would be, nor that he would one day marry Arwen. He had not told him of the friends he would lose, or of the deep bond that would be formed through a fellowship. He had not told him that when he did finally die that a nation would mourn him. Mandos knew that it would not matter.

There had never really been a choice at all.

Aragorn's will was stronger than iron. He would never choose to die when he could choose life.

Mandos looked over his shoulder once more. A smile curled his lips. "Rest easy…Elessar."

0-0-0-0

Galadriel stood at the edge of her flet, looking down into the garden below.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

The Lady of Light sighed heavily, her golden brows drawing together.

Back and forth.

Blue eyes followed the progress of Arwen as the Evenstar continued to imitate a clock pendulum. The elleth was pacing continuously, her light feet treading the garden path below her grandmother's watchful gaze. She was so like her mother that it hurt to watch her sometimes.

Arwen continued on her unending march, unaware of Galadriel's perusal.

Galadriel could remember another young elf maiden traipsing the very same path as Arwen, for the very same reason. Only the maiden she saw in her mind's eye was golden-haired…

The elf woman turned her head slightly as she felt the warm, solid presence of her husband come up behind her. Celeborn slid his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. Galadriel smiled, enjoying the comforting weight resting against her back. The smile disappeared, however, as soon as her blue eyes turned back to the dark-haired elleth pacing throughout the garden.

"What is troubling you, _meleth nin_?" Celeborn's words tickled against her pointed ear; his breath a welcome warmth.

Another sigh pulled itself from the very bottom of her lungs. She could not take her eyes from her granddaughter. "She is so much like…" words stuck in her throat and choked her. The elf woman blinked rapidly, feeling a tear slide down her porcelain cheek. After all these years, all she had to do was think of Celebrian and the tears would flow.

Celeborn tightened his arms around her. Galadriel swiftly caught one of his hands in her own small one, squeezing it, thankful for his presence. She could not even begin to reveal what she feared when she gazed at Arwen. How could she explain things to her husband? Most likely he had not noticed what she had.

"So," he said softly. "She is worried for the ranger."

Galadriel really did turn now. Her eyes were round with surprise as she stared at her husband. A very dry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pulled her into an embrace. "I am not as blind as you sometimes think I am, dear heart."

The Lady of Light smiled secretly into Celeborn's shoulder as he pulled her slender body close to his.

"And I know what you are thinking," his voice was as dry as the smile. Pulling back slightly, Celeborn caught Galadriel's chin and tipped her face toward his own. "I remember when Celebrian walked the very same path Arwen is wearing down right now." He paused, and sighed. "She was awaiting Elrond, and he was late. Very late. She would pace for hours on end…" Celeborn's eyes drifted from his wife to the gardens below. "…just as Arwen does now."

"Yes." Galadriel rested her head on his shoulder once more. "I suspected that she had become attached to him, but I wasn't sure until now." She squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a moment and clung to her husband. She felt very small. Very small, and very vulnerable. With every step Arwen took, Galadriel's heart sunk a little further. She was going to lose her granddaughter, and she was powerless to prevent it.

A tear slid down her cheek and was quickly absorbed by Celeborn's shirt. His large hand stroked the back of her head in mute understanding. For a few moments they stood there, unmoving. The elf lord sighed softly. "Meleth nin," his voice resonated in the ear that was pressed to his chest. "Do not borrow tomorrow's grief. We will mourn when the time comes." His deep voice broke ever so slightly on the last word, and he was silent for several moments before continuing. "Let us enjoy the time we have, and be grateful for what we have been given instead of ruing losses that have not yet occurred."

Galadriel pushed herself back and tilted her head up. There were tears glimmering on her long eyelashes but a smile gently turned the corners of her lips. "Your are very wise, _hir nin_."

Celeborn's fingers caught the tears before they fell. He smiled wryly. "Always such a surprised tone of voice."

Galadriel actually laughed as he bent to kiss her.

0-0-0-0

Arwen drew in a deep breath; trying to push back the bubble of panic that was floating beneath her façade of calm. She was anything _but_ calm, but it would not do to let her uneasiness reveal itself to the whole of Lothlorien.

With this in mind she unclenched her fingers, belatedly realizing that she had balled them into such tight fists that her fingernails had torn small crescents in the delicate fabric of her sleeves. Lovely. Her grandmother would be thrilled.

The Evenstar finally sat herself on a bench and clasped her hands together. She was trembling. Fear swirled in the corners of her mind. What had happened to Estel? Something was dreadfully, horribly wrong, and no one would tell her anything! Maybe it was to prevent her from worrying.

A most un-elflike snort erupted from Arwen's delicate nose. She was on her feet and pacing again before she realized that she had moved. How could she not worry? How could she do anything but worry worry worry… Her hands were balling into fists again, but the elleth did not note it.

Was he hurt? Had he been attacked? Her stomach twisted sharply and acid burned in her throat as she thought of him in pain.

What was taking them so long? Over a week had passed since the twins had looked into the mirror. Arwen bit her lip lightly. Never had the days passed so incredibly slowly! She was constantly on edge, and part of her knew that she would not be able to rest until she had learned what had happened to her beloved. Time after time her grandparents had tried to convince her to come sleep…eat…she had lost count of the attempts to persuade her to rest. She would smile and nod and say that she was simply not hungry; not tired. Perhaps another time. As the days passed her smiles became more and more strained. Her replies less genteel.

One hand came up to her throat, fingering the ring that hung from the slender chain about her neck.

Her gray eyes closed against the pain of worry. He had to be alright. He had to be. She could not bear it if he were otherwise.

A whisper of sound broke the stillness of the garden. Arwen's eyes flew open. This was what she had been waiting for.

The elf maid flew down the path, dark hair streaming behind her, anxiety written plainly across her face. She rounded a curve and could see them.

A party of elves were striding into the depths of Lothlorien. The golden-haired Ghaldhrim did not register in her vision, nor did the Prince of Mirkwood. She saw her brothers, but only because they carried between them a stretcher.

She came to an abrupt halt, her mouth dropping open in horror. "Estel!"

0-0-0-0

Elladan saw his little sister dash into sight, her long hair flying behind her, face drawn with anxiety. Her eyes did not seem to register that he was there at all. They were focused instantly upon the still figure he and Elrohir carried between them.

She stopped rather suddenly, and ungracefully. Elrond's first born felt his heart contract sharply as he realized that her legs were trembling too badly to carry her forward.

"Estel!"

The sound of her voice froze him where he stood. He had only heard Arwen sound like that once before…only then it had been their mother the twins had carried back.

"Oh." The word was barely a breath. Elladan saw in an instant exactly what Legolas had been saying in the few seconds before Estel lost consciousness. He had long suspected the ranger of having an affection for the Evenstar, but he did not know just how deep the feelings had become.

Not until this moment. He had not understood either that Arwen _returned_ Estel's affection.

A whimper escaped Arwen's lips as she lurched forwards once more, forcing her limbs to carry her towards her beloved's still form. Before her knees could fold, Legolas caught her in his arms.

"Let go," she murmured, eyes never leaving her goal. She seemed only vaguely aware that it was only Legolas' arms that were keeping her upright. Arwen pushed at his chest, trying to continue on.

"Easy," the prince whispered as he tightened his grip gently. "Easy. Let me help you." Ignoring her attempts to push him away, Legolas firmly wrapped an arm around her waist and took hold of her wrist. Arwen finally grasped the fact that he was trying to help her get to the ranger, not hold her back, and gladly accepted his support.

Elladan exchanged a look with Elrohir. The younger twin's mouth was set in a rock hard line. He had seen all that his brother had seen and comprehended its full meaning. The elf lords stepped forward with their burden, coming to meet Arwen so that she would not have so far to go.

Elrohir's mouth twitched slightly as Arwen looked down on the ranger. Elladan grimaced as well. This was not the best Estel had ever looked…

Arwen choked, her face going from pale to white so quickly that Legolas tightened his hold about the slender elf maiden, obviously afraid that she was about to faint. Elladan cursed himself soundly. If he had realized…he would have made more of an effort to downplay the seriousness of Estel's injuries for Arwen's sake. Indeed, he truly was out of danger, as far as they could tell. He just looked terrible. The ranger's clothes were in ruins; torn to shreds and stained with blood. His leg was heavily splinted, almost every square inch of his skin was scraped, bruised or lacerated, and the dark circles under his eyes were so pronounced that it almost looked like someone had given him two black eyes. Of course, there was always the chance that it had indeed happened…

The twins had, of course, done their best to clean the ranger up after they had dressed his wound, but there was no getting around the fact that Estel had been through a grueling ordeal, and they had not had the proper facilities to ensure his best possible presentation.

"Arwen it's all right," Elrohir said quickly, seeing her expression of horror. "Honestly, it looks worse than it actually is."

Arwen tore her gray eyes from Estel's still form and pierced her brother with a look that implied deep incredulity and managed to convey her doubts regarding his sanity. Legolas looked impressed.

Elladan nodded to Elrohir and the twins slowly lowered their brother to the ground. Elladan straightened, caught Arwen's hand in his own and pulled her down onto her knees beside Estel's stretcher. The elder twin swiftly placed her hand over the ranger's heart.

His skin was warm, and the heartbeat was strong. Estel's chest rose and fell beneath their fingers.

"Oh…" the small, broken noise slipped from Arwen's lips. Relief was washing over her face. Elladan could feel the stress of days leaving her body as she pressed her hand against Estel's beating heart. Tears brimmed in her bright eyes. They trickled down her cheeks.

Without a word, Elladan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her tight. He pressed his lips against the shining waves of her dark hair and could not utter a syllable. If he said anything, he knew that his voice would break, and he would weep bitter tears. It was a hard thing, to be caught between two beings. He loved Estel and would gladly lay his life down for his younger brother. He loved Arwen and the same was true for her. If Estel loved Arwen, and she loved him, he would never stand in their way, but he knew the fate of elves who loved mortals.

Another arm slipped around Arwen. Elladan looked up to meet the tortured gaze of his twin, and knew that he would not have to explain anything. Elrohir knew exactly what he was feeling. A bittersweet smile twisted Elrohir's fair face for a moment. With sigh, the younger elf lord buried his face in Arwen's shoulder, his dark braids mingling with her free-flowing hair.

0-0-0-0

_ Three days later_

0-0-0-0

The surface beneath his head was soft and fragrant. The air he was inhaling was clean, and he could smell the elusive scent that he knew could only be found surrounding the dwellings of elves.

Aragorn sighed softly. He was enjoying the slow sensation of awakening, for the first time in a very long time, without fierce agony. His leg was throbbing slightly, but compared to the last time he had been conscious…

The ranger's eyes flickered open slowly. The cool, pure light of the moon flowed over his face. He was aware, despite the slight pain in his leg, of a remarkable sense of well-being. Like all the problems and worries he had fretted over for the past years had been removed.

For the first time in a long time, he was not concerned for the future. Maybe because of something he had dreamed…

He tried to remember the dream, but the more he concentrated on it the faster it disappeared.

Silver eyes slowly took in the room where he lay. It was familiar to him. The same room where he had awoken when he had entered Lothlorien, over a season ago. Moonlight flowed into the room through the wide windows, turning everything silver. Aragorn slowly pushed himself up on his elbows and his eyes swept over his surroundings. Only then did he realize that he was not alone.

An elf maiden was seated in a low chair next to the bed. Her arms were folded across his mattress, dark head resting on them. Her long hair flowed down her back and across the pillow, like the swaying tendrils of some underwater plant. The silver light of the moon turned her pale skin icy white, and frosted the strands of hair that fell across her forehead.

Aragorn caught his breath sharply. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Slowly, wincing slightly as he moved his leg, the ranger leaned towards her. His right hand reached out and stroked her smooth cheek almost reverently.

Arwen stirred, and her lips curved in a sweet smile. She blinked, her gray eyes slowly focusing. Aragorn began to pull his hand away, not wanting to wake her. With a movement that was almost too fast to see, her hand was there, trapping his against her cheek. She gasped, coming to her senses completely.

The Evenstar slowly straightened. She did not release his hand, but held it fast. Her gray eyes met his, and he smiled.

Arwen wailed and threw her arms around his neck, almost tackling him.

Aragorn gasped as the sudden movement caused pain to shoot down the length of his leg. His arms wrapped around the elleth automatically, and he bit down on his lip to stop himself from crying out. He might be in pain but he would not have traded the moment for anything in the world…

He was alive. He was alive, and he was holding Arwen in his arms again. The ranger sighed deeply and buried his face in her hair.

_Meleth nin--my love_

_Hir nin--my lord_

_0-0-0-0_

**Okay, here is the surprise…the last chapter is in fact already written. It will be posted tomorrow.:) Thank you all for being such wonderful reviewers and for sticking with me even though I have been so horrible about posting! I sincerely hope that I will NEVER be this bad again. This has just been horrible. Anyway, thanks again for you continued support, and I will see everyone tomorrow.:)**


	12. Home Sweet Home

     **Alright, it just figures that with the last chapter something went screwy and messed the whole thing up.  Sorry this is a day late.  My Windows Word program suddenly and for some unexplainable reason ceased to work.  But I downloaded another one, and now I am able to present the final chapter of my To series.  Thank you all that have stuck with me through the horrible long waits for updates, and for reviewing so beautifully!  I hope you all have enjoyed the story as much as I have enjoyed writing it.  Thank you!**

Glorfindel strode down the hallway leading towards Elrond's study with an extra bounce in his step.  Not many would venture this way save for urgent business, and even then they would carefully consider the urgency of their errand.  The Lord of Imladris had been astonishingly short tempered of late.  Such a change of character must have something to do with the absence of his sons.   

     The blond seneschal hummed cheerfully to himself as he walked, drawing wide-eyed stares and admiring glances.  If there were ever any doubt as to Glorfindel's bravery, such doubts were now put to rest.  No one else would dare step near Elrond's study with such an irritatingly happy smile on their face unless they wished to be heavily involved in kitchen duty for the remainder of their time on Arda.

     Of course, there was always the chance that his actions did not spring from bravery, but foolishness.

     Determinedly ignoring the gapes that followed him, Glorfindel practically skipped up to the heavy wooden door and rapped it sharply.  He then proceeded to bounce on the balls of his feet as he waited for Elrond to open the portal, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he whistled a merry tune through his teeth in a manner guaranteed to annoy all who approached him.

     Two servants exchanged significant glances as they crept by.  Foolishness.  Definitely foolishness.

0-0-0-0

     Elrond looked up, annoyed at the sound of the knock.  His delicately pointed ears were already picking up the strains of the melody that Glorfindel was whistling.  The elf lord scowled ferociously.  His friend knew how much he hated that particular tune.  Elrond pushed himself back from his desk, making the legs of the chair scrape loudly.  He took a moment to straighten his robes, calm his features…

     The volume of Glorfindel's whistling rose.

     Dark eyebrows drew together in a disgusted V.  With a growl, Elrond crossed the room in three long strides and flung the heavy door open.  "What do you _want_, Glorfindel."

     The resurrected elf smiled angelically.  Elrond was not fooled. "I have come to keep you company…"

     "I do not wish it." Elrond tried to shut the door, but Glorfindel was already pushing his wide shoulders through the frame.

     "I only wanted to tell you…"

     "I do not wish to hear your voice, you insufferable, annoyance!"

     The gold brows rose mockingly.  "You wish me to give you your news in pantomime?"

     Elrond sat down at his desk and buried his face in his long fingers.  "If I allow you to tell me what you have come to say," his voice was slightly muffled, but nothing could disguise the layer of acid. "Will you promise to leave me alone?"

     Glorfindel leaned against the wall and idly studied his fingernails.

     The Lord of Imladris pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.  "I wish to hear your voice."

     "In that case," Glorfindel beamed, "I have a letter for you, just recently arrived and I was the only one brave enough to deliver it.  Honestly, I haven't seen you so snippy in a very long time."

     "I have not seen my son in a very long time," Elrond immediately snapped back. "Ah…I mean…I am sorry, _mellon nin_.  You are right.  I have not been behaving as I should."  The dark-haired elf leaned back in his chair and drew a deep sigh.  "I just want to know what has happened to Estel."

     "I know."  Glorfindel's face became serious.  "We all do, and all the household has forgiven you already."  His blues eyes sparked with a smile once more.  "Besides," he added digging into a pocket.  "I think I have what you want."  With a flourish, the seneschal withdrew a letter.  He tossed it into the air, and Elrond snagged the parchment without thought.  Gray eyes focused on the seal, and suddenly his hands were trembling.  It was the seal of Galadriel.

     In a second, the letter was open and laid out before him.  Elrond sighed softly as he saw the rough scrawl of Estel's hand.  But there was another's handwriting in the letter as well.  Much more delicate and graceful than Estel's.  Handwriting that Elrond recognized as well; that he was more familiar with in fact.

     Why was Arwen writing in Estel's letter?

     Elrond scanned through the contents of the epistle and his face paled.  He scanned through them a second time.  They remained the same.  The same words telling him the same thing.  Slowly, he laid the paper down on his desk and folded his slender hands over it.  Gray eyes stared off into the distance.

     "What's wrong?"  Glorfindel was not smiling now.  He gazed at his friend anxiously.  "What has happened?"

     Elrond started, as though he had completely forgotten that Glorfindel was in the room.  His eyes focused on his friend for an instant, then drifted away to stare at nothing.

     "Elrond?" the fair warrior's voice was sharp.  He leaned over the desk as though he would take the letter.

     "He was attacked."

     Glorfindel paused, half bent over Elrond's desk.  He drew back slowly.  "Attacked?"

     "Yes."  Elrond's finger wound a braid around itself.  "He was already on his way back to Rivendell…and he was attacked in the mountains."

     "Goblins?"

     "No."  Elrond's gray eyes burned angrily.  "Do you remember Halith?"

     The dark look that crossed his friend's face answered the question for him. 

    "He was attacked by Halith.  Captured.  They…they broke his leg."  A spasm of rage broke the usual placid surface of Elrond's features.  "Those…!" The stream of expletives that flowed from the elf lord's mouth caused Glorfindel's eyebrows to nearly become lost in his hair line.  Elrond finally regained control of himself.  "The twins even passed by the men who had captured him, and they did not realize it.  They continued on to Lothlorien."  The long fingers of Elrond's hands began to tap on the surface of the desk.  "When they found out they turned back and they rescued him, but he was badly wounded and was unconscious for days."  The dark elf's voice trailed off and he fell silent for several minutes.

     Glorfindel swallowed hard.  He did not want to ask, but it seemed like Elrond was unwilling to supply anymore information.  "Is he…?"

     "He is alive."  The words sounded oddly stressed.

     Blue eyes narrowed shrewdly.  "What else is there?"

     Elrond motioned to the letter and the two penmanships.  "Arwen writes as well." Elrond's eyes closed gently, as though it were all too much.  "She writes to tell me she is in love with Estel." 

     Silence followed in the words and swallowed the room.  Glorfindel felt as if he were being slowly suffocated.  He could not seem to breathe properly, as if he had been struck hard and all the wind had been knocked from his body. 

     Elrond opened his eyes.  They were wet.  "I will lose her."

     His friend could offer no comfort.  It was true.

     The Lord of Imladris slowly rose from his seat and paced towards the window.  He stood with is back to his seneschal and sighed.  "It is not fair, you know."

     Glorfindel did not say anything, but perhaps Elrond understood his confusion.  He turned, and the fair elf saw a sad smile twisting the lips of his friend.  "I could not wish for a better or more noble man to be my daughter's husband.  It is ironic that the best man is also the one that will cause her death."

_0-0-0-0_

_Two months later_

     Aragorn patted the neck of his mount, looking down into the valley of Imladris.  He had dreamed of this moment for years.  For nearly a quarter of a century he had longed for this.  He was home.

     And he was seriously contemplating turning the horse around and fleeing in the opposite direction.

     "Come now, Estel, surely you are not considering flight?" The cheerful voice on his right caused a broad grin to spread across Aragorn's face.  He turned his head slightly, shooting a mock terrified look at his friend.

     Legolas grinned back impishly.  "The Lord Elrond has missed you," he said seriously.  "He will be happy to see you."

     Aragorn swallowed convulsively.  He was so eager for this, and yet so afraid.  For years he had dreamed of returning home to his father and brothers…but he had not imagined that at the time he would not only be coming as a son, but as a most unwelcome suitor of Elrond's only daughter.  What if Elrond hated him for taking Arwen's heart…?

     A hand squeezed his left shoulder.  Elladan had ridden up beside the ranger.  The elf lord smiled encouragingly at his younger brother.  Elrohir leaned around his twin from Elladan's left side and beamed at Aragorn.

     Aragorn smiled tightly back.  He had, of course, discussed the subject thoroughly with his brothers while in Lothlorien.  His smile loosened slightly and warmed as he gazed at the twins.

     They loved their sister, and wanted her to be happy. 

     But they also loved their brother, and if he could make Arwen happy, they would not stand in the way.  Their journey had been exactly like the many he had taken with them before.  A wonderful time of fellowship shared with his brothers and his friend.

     Now, however, descending into Imladris, he felt dread bubbling in the pit of his stomach.  He and Arwen had agreed that a message should be sent ahead.  Elrond was informed of their relationship.  If he were unhappy with it, what sort of welcoming would Aragorn receive?  The very idea of Elrond being unhappy with him made his stomach twist sickeningly.  What if the elven lord was angry with him?  What if Elrond no longer thought of him as a son?

     Aragorn felt bile rise in his throat and quickly took a deep breath.  The path they were slowly riding down was so familiar.  If he were not so unsure of the reception he would receive, Aragorn knew that he would be nearly delirious with joy.  Even so he felt tears prick his eyes.  The ranger closed them, trusting his surefooted horse to know the way.  He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the clean smell of the valley.  A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.  Here too, as in Lothlorien, he could smell the faint, pleasant odor that followed elves.

     "Aragorn?"

     The dark-haired man opened his eyes to see Legolas looking at him anxiously.

     "Are you all right?"  The fair elf nudged his horse closer to Aragorn's and whispered so that he twins would not hear.  "It's not your leg, is it?  Nothing is paining you?"

     Aragorn made a face at his friend.  "You are worse than the twins combined.  I have not been bothered by my leg for nearly a month.  I am completely healed, I promise, _mellon nin._"  He smiled, but knew that there was a very melancholy edge to it. "I was just enjoying being…"  before the word _home_ could cross his lips, he clamped them shut.  He did not know yet if it would really remain home.  "Back." He finished lamely.

0-0-0-0

     Legolas scowled inwardly  as he saw pain flash in Aragorn's silver eyes.  He knew what was going through his friend's mind.  He _knew_ what word the man had just avoided.  How could he not see that his worry was groundless?  Did he really know Elrond so little?

     The prince punched Aragorn's shoulder lightly.  "Do not fear, Strider," he said, keeping his voice teasing.  "Your father will probably only lock you into your room for a decade or two, to make up for the two and a half of your absence."

     The smile Aragorn sent his way was weak, but it was a smile. 

0-0-0-0

     There.  The ranger pulled his horse up abruptly.  He could not breathe.  Could not think.  For an all too brief moment it did not matter in the least how Elrond was going to greet him.  He could see the Last Homely House.

     There had been a time when he was sure that he would never see it again.

     Elrohir clapped him on the shoulder and rode past, followed by Elladan and Legolas and still Aragorn could not move.  His horse whickered unhappily, wanting to follow the others.

     At last he touched the animal's flanks with his heels, urging it forward.  The beast needed little urging and quickly broke into a trot to catch up to the others.  Aragorn was paying very little attention to the horse.  His eyes were fixed upon his father's house, and the reception awaiting him there.

     Now that was odd.

     The gates were opening already.  Aragorn frowned.  Why were they opening the gates already?  Usually they would wait until the group was within hailing distance and had identified themselves.

     The twins exchanged a puzzled look, obviously as confused as he.  Legolas shrugged. 

     A slim, dark-haired being shot between the gates, pelting down the path.  Aragorn felt his heart leap convulsively into his throat.

     The lord Elrond was unmistakable, even at a distance.  Long dark hair flew behind him as he moved towards them with incredibly speed. 

     "_Ada_," Aragorn breathed.  He so badly wanted to leap forward…and run away at the same time.  He didn't know what to do; he didn't know what to think…

     "Estel!" The clear ringing of Lord Elrond's deep voice resounded and even Aragorn could not fail to hear the unrestrained joy.

     Aragorn's horse leapt forward as he dug his heels in.  The animal snorted in surprise, but was eager to run.  Mid-gallop, the ranger threw himself from the speeding beast into the arms of his father. "_Ada!_"

     Elrond staggered with the impact of Aragorn's solid frame, but remained standing.  His arms wound around the human so tightly he was in danger of leaving bruises.  "_Ion nin,_" he whispered as he clutched the man desperately.  "_Le bar.  Le bar!_"

      "Yes," Aragorn answered as he buried his face in his father's shoulder.  "Yes, _Ada._  I'm home!"

     Time seemed to freeze for a moment as Aragorn pulled back and gazed into his father's face.  Elrond was staring into his child's eyes, his hand tracing lines that had been drawn across the ranger's skin.  Aragorn could hear his brothers and Legolas coming up behind him, but could not move.  _This_ was what he had been waiting for.  All the years he had been gone…  Everything seemed to be crashing in upon him.  His years of service in Rohan and Gondor; the nightmare of Mordor.  Finally he thought of Arwen.  Loving her, and knowing what it would cost her to love him in return.

     Aragorn met Elrond's eyes and saw that the elf lord's feelings towards him were not changed.  Emotion overwhelmed him, to the point where he was silent for several minutes, not trusting his voice to remain steady.  "I have much to tell you, _Ada,_" he finally managed.

     The dark-haired elf lord stroked a strand of hair from his son's forehead.  "I look forward to hearing it," he answered.  "I have missed you greatly, Estel."

    Aragorn smiled crookedly, trying to make his voice light. "What then, you are not disappointed that I am returned after so short a time away?  You did not enjoy the peace that I left in with my absence?"

      "Peace is highly overrated and only desired until one has obtained it." Elrond's smile was tender, his eyes soft. "And you could not disappoint me if you tried,_ ion nin_."

     The words stirred something deep within the ranger…like the memory of a dream, or a dream of a dream.  Despite the jesting tone of his father, Aragorn knew that the words were absolute truth.

     Estel buried his face in Elrond's shoulder once more.  He was indeed home.

**The end.**

_Le bar!--you're home!_

_Ion nin--my son_

_Mellon nin--my friend_

_0-0-0-0_

**Well, that all folks.  I don't know when I'll be writing again, but I do have some ideas for stories, and I will get them out.  I love this website too much to do otherwise.:)  One final time, a great big thank you too all of you!**


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